Embers and Ashes
by TangiblyYours
Summary: HPDM. Everything about him was broken, no fire or heat left anymore; just burnt out embers, charred ashes, & the remnants of his personality. And there was only one person who could fix him, rekindle the spark in his eyes, & bring him back to life. HBP.
1. Chapter 1: Up in Smoke

**Title: **Embers and Ashes

**Summary:** "Fire Tetrahedron: -_noun _1. Without sufficient _heat_, the fire cannot begin. 2. Without _fuel_, the fire will eventually stop and turn to ash. 3. And without _oxygen_, the fire cannot continue." Everything about him was broken―there was no fire or heat left anymore. Just burnt out embers, charred ashes, and the remnants of his old personality. And there was only one person who could fix him―rekindle that spark in his silver eyes and bring him back to life. HPDM, Sixth-year alternative, in-progress.

**Warnings: **Very dark. Potential spoilers, slash, explicit language and violence, physical abuse, and a lot of angst.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters involved. No copyright infringement intended.

* * *

_"In everyone's life, at some time, our inner fire goes out.  
It is then burst into flame by an encounter with another human being. __  
We should all be thankful for those people who rekindle the inner spirit."  
- Albert Schweitzer_

_

* * *

_

Harry walked down the dark, empty corridors, bare feet treading quietly upon the cool ground. It was unnerving, the way he seemed inexplicably drawn down this unfamiliar path―searching for something unknown. And he found himself following the rosewood pattern etched into the stone flooring, uncertainty brimming within him as he continued to search his surroundings. It seemed to him as though he was being guided by some concealed force, as though his legs already knew of the path and destination, despite his apprehension.

The moon was high in the sky, casting a low light in through the black iron-rimmed windows that ran down the corridor walls. It gave an ethereal appearance to his surrounding, the milky white light dancing across the flooring and up the slate gray masonry that lined the walls. He'd never been down this specific passageway before and found himself entranced by its archaic appeal.

He felt ridiculous; his desire to reach this unknown location had no foundation nor merit whatsoever, and it was rapidly driving him further and further away from the comfort of the Gryffindor common room. He clutched his Invisibility Cloak tightly, his eyes searching for something―_anything_―of interest.

Suddenly, Harry heard a sharp gasp, seeming to come from within a small crevice hidden in the corridor wall. The sound was raw and harsh―saturated with emotions like molten fire―and the pained noise had a level of intensity behind it that was stifling. He followed the sound of the panting, his curiosity piqued as he slowed his pace; surely his intrusion wouldn't be _completely _unwelcome if he was only trying to help.

As he peered around the corner, he couldn't stop the slight intake of breath that was certainly loud enough to be heard. Draco Malfoy was sitting on the floor, back pressed against the far end of the wall, panting quietly as tears fell down his cheeks.

Harry found his gaze to be stuck on the sight before him, not even breathing as he took in the epitome of pure vulnerability upon the face of the one person who he would have least expected it. It was enough to make him question nearly every single one of their past confrontations and arguments, disbelief coursing through his system as he watched quietly.

_How could this possibly be the same person?_

It seemed as though Harry was capable of feeling the slightest twinge of empathy for his rival as a small shiver ran up his spine. He couldn't decided what would be a better solution―to run away and pretend he'd never seen anything, or to help the blond who, for so long, had been the source of his most heated enmity.

He fought against his conflicting emotions, anxiety swelling within him as he tried to decide on a course of action. Despite his better judgment, he found himself slipping from beneath the Invisibility Cloak, revealing himself as he walked toward the other boy.

It was with very little comfort that Harry realized the risk he was taking―that his rival's reaction could, potentially, be explosive and dangerous―but beneath his caution was... _concern_? He quickly forced the absurd thought out of his mind.

"Malfoy?"

Draco's reaction was instantaneous as he jumped from his seated position on the floor, crouching forward and wielding his wand before he could even figure out his intruder's identity. His eyes were frantic, tears still brimming around the edges as his gaze finally focused on Harry's taut form. "Wh-what do you want, Potter?" Even his attempt at hostility was weak, his voice strained and tight as a result of the barely suppressed turmoil.

For some reason, Harry's initial response wasn't to grab his wand, but rather to lift his hands in a submissive gesture, as if to placate Malfoy's instability. He forced himself to relax, hoping that his disposition was calm and reserved. "Draco... just calm down, alright? I'm not trying to fight you."

Tension seemed to pervade the air—their surroundings buzzing with the undercurrent of Malfoy's magic—and his expression was utterly insane. "Why're you here? Did you follow me? How long have you been following me?" And his voice had an level of hysteria to it that was so surreal and misplaced that, for a moment, Harry was completely speechless.

He took a slight step backwards, noting Draco's beyond disheveled appearance―something of which Harry never though he'd see from the other boy. His hair was ruffled, blond strands sticking out in every direction as though he'd been tugging on it. His skin was almost ashen, much paler than usual, and it only seemed to bring further attention to his gaunt frame and dull eyes. His robes were rumpled, his white dress shirt no longer tucked in and sticking out at the edge. And despite his perpetual trembling, there seemed to be a light sheen of sweat glistering across his skin. _He looks utterly ill._

"I didn't follow you... I didn't even know it was you until I looked." Harry whispered, trying to soothe the blond with soft, simple words. "Draco? Merlin, what's happened to you?"

Draco seemed to watch Harry for a moment, trying to gauge the sincerity of his words before he charged forward, grasping the neck of Harry's robes and clutching them tightly. He pulled Harry closer, his eyes shifting for a moment to make sure they were alone. "Why're you here, Harry? Why did you follow me?" he asked in a panicked whisper.

Harry lifted his hands to Draco's biceps, but didn't push him away. "Calm down, alright? Draco? Calm down," he said, shaking the other boy slightly.

Draco didn't falter, his eyes widening as he heard a door slamming shut somewhere in the distance. His vice-grip on Harry's robes only tightened as he pulled both of them father into gap, his back pressed against the far wall. Harry moved closer, using his body to shield the opening and hoping that it would be enough to help calm the other boy. "Draco, listen to me. What happened to you?"

Suddenly, Draco's rigid form went completely still, his eyes widening as they seemed to focus, for the first time on the emerald irises that were watching him carefully. "The Cruciatus Curse." And his voice was so quiet―so deadly―that it took Harry a few moments before he could truly grasp the implication.

"Who did this to you?"

Draco pulled Harry closer, burying his face in the robes that he still held within his tight, unrelenting grip. He seemed to collapse under the weight of the words, his muscles giving out from beneath him and Harry was left to support the extra weight. Harry quickly wrapped his arms around the other boy, not thinking about the action or how natural the proximity seemed as he pulled Draco closer. "Who did this to you?" he repeated, his voice barely a whisper.

"They're gonna kill me. I've got to do it... He said he would _kill me _if I don't do it." Draco leaned further into the embrace, a soft whimper escaping him as he nuzzled deeper into the crook of Harry's neck.

Harry didn't bother asking for a clarification, knowing he would get none from the distraught boy until he calmed down―until the effects of the curse wore off. He pulled Draco closer, leaning against the wall for support as he tried to think of what he could do―where he could take Draco at this time of night when surely everyone was asleep. He didn't even consider leaving the other boy, not even fully comprehending that this was his _nemesis_ that he was virtually holding in his arms. He needed to _help _him, and that was the only thought circulating through his mind.

He quickly draped the Invisibility Cloak over the both of them, settling on a location as he directed Draco through the empty corridors, his grip not faltering in the slightest.

Harry stopped as the large door appeared in the wall, waiting for it to develop completely before pressing forward, the whimpering boy at his side complying without a word. Once inside, Harry watched in amazement as the room shifted and items magically appeared. At the end of the transformation, the two stood in the in front of a completely developed bedroom. There was a king-sized bed with a black, goose-down comfort draped over it, little black and crimson pillows dispersed at the top. The fire place was burning, it's mantle following the pattern of the black and dark red surroundings, a rug placed directly in front of the flames. And finally there was a small black couch, maroon seams traveling the length as more pillows littered it's surface, a dark red fleece folded over the back.

What really caught Harry's attention was not the odd décor and design, but the mere fact that Draco was now nuzzling deeper into his side, pulling him closer while trying to simultaneously walk further into the room.

If only for his desire to comfort the other boy―to help him find a semblance of relaxation in the aftermath of the Cruciatus Curse's effects―Harry allowed himself to be dragged toward the couch that sat facing the fire.

He sat down, figuring that Draco's grip on his robes would disappear and that the other boy would situate himself on the opposite end of the couch. What he hadn't expected was Draco to follow his every move, sitting on the couch directly next to him, curling up against Harry's side and pulling him impossibly closer.

Harry noticed for the first time just how labored the other boy's breathing was―noticed that Draco's grip wasn't lessening, but rather tightening. He noticed just how much Draco's body was quivering; how he could feel moisture soaking through his robes and onto his chest. He noticed that _Malfoy―_his rival for the past six and a half years―was seeking _him_ out for comfort, begging for refuge and warmth.

And suddenly, the true severity of the entire situation hit Harry as he realized that Draco had endure the _Torture Curse _for Merlin only knows how long―obviously long enough to affect his sanity, and Harry could only hope that the effects were only temporary. He wrapped his arm around the exhausted form, pulling him closer and trying to pacify Draco's desperate need for comfort and security. It was with little humor that Harry realized how truly ironic the entire situation was.

He reached his arm around and grabbed the dark vermilion blanket that was draped over the back of the sofa, wrapping it carefully around Draco's shoulders. He took a moment to watch the shivering, distraught boy that was his enemy, and tried to find even an ounce of the old hostility that had existed not only within Draco but within himself, as well. What he found peculiar was not his lack of animosity, but rather the abundance of his concern―knowing that something had irrevocably shifted in the atmosphere; that because of the night's events, something had drastically altered his views on the boy that was practically lying in his lap.

He sighed, resigning himself to the enforced change and allowed his hand to gently sift through the blond hair that was scattered across his chest. It didn't go unnoticed as Draco leaned into his palm, the side of his face nuzzling against Harry's abdomen as he did so.

Harry let his head fall against the back of the couch, his eyes closing as he continued to run his hand through the blond, silken hair. He tried to sleep, but it seemed to evade him as he sat up watching the flames for hours. As time passed, the vice-grip that Draco held on Harry's robes gradually lessened until he had just a limp arm draped across Harry's torso. His trembling slowly eased and his breathing evened out, despite the tears that still fell across his cheeks as he slept.

The sun was just starting to rise as Harry began to drift to sleep, the bright light blocked out by the black curtains that suddenly appeared over the window.

And as the darkness consumed him, Harry realized that he wasn't worried about what his friends would think of his absence or the fact the classes had probably already started. No, the only thing he was concerned about was the blond that he held in his arms, his grip tightening without a deeper thought.

* * *

Harry awoke with his memories of the previous night still at the forefront of his mind, not even slightly addled by his sleep. He was also acutely aware of the form that was missing from his side, leaving him feeling cold without the blanket that had been draped over the both of them during the night.

He groaned softly, running a hand down the side of his face as he opened his eyes. His neck was sore, the muscles protesting as he lifted his head to search for the blond who had been so completely wrecked the night before.

Harry immediately caught sight the other boy, sitting on the floor in front of the flames, knees pulled up to his chest with his arms wrapped tightly around them. Draco seemed to be in a trance of sorts, his head resting atop his knees as he watched the ornate flames dancing before him. Harry scrutinized him for a moment, noticing that his appearance was much more composed than the night before. Draco's hair had tamed significantly and his clothing and robes were now straightened to the best of their abilities. But the most drastic change, thought Harry, was within the other boy's expression. Gone were the tears that had trailed so endlessly down the side of his face, and from what Harry could see, Draco's slate gray eyes no longer held that fearful hysteria that they had before―no, they were empty now, completely devoid of all emotion and expression.

Harry swallowed hard, unease consuming him. He knew how to deal with an angry Draco; in fact, he even knew how to deal with the frantic Draco from the night before. What he didn't know how to handle was the absolute emptiness that he was currently seeing from the blond. He had no idea how to approach this boy who seemed so completely broken that he was a mere shell of the person he used to be. For once in his life, Harry felt as though there was absolutely nothing he could say or do.

He continued to watch him for several moments, hoping that something would change―hoping that the familiar spark in Draco's eyes would return.

"What is it, Potter?"

Harry was shocked. He hadn't known that the other boy had been aware of his staring, and not only that, but the tone in which Draco spoke. His voice, like his expression, was completely devoid of all emotion―the usual bite and sarcasm that existed when he would regard Harry missing and in it's place was... nothing.

"I, uhm..." Harry shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts and formulate a response before the other boy could figure out just how much this was truly affecting him. It was throwing him completely off balance to experience such a surreal difference in Draco's personality and demeanor―nothing Harry ever would have thought possible. "Er, how are you feeling?" he finished, lamely.

It felt weird to approach Draco with such... hesitance and uncertainty. Harry was used to their biting remarks and insults, never civil or empathizing, but always fierce with anger. Now, Harry thought, it seemed as though Draco couldn't even build up enough intensity to offer a single scathing remark.

It left Harry feeling oddly lost, once again. He found himself missing the usual stamina and potency that the blond used to carry―his confidence and grace that now seemed to be all together absent.

And it was so absurd, because they _hated _each other. Why, thought Harry, did it bother him at all? Why did seeing Draco in this state cause a deep ache to form in the pit of his stomach, almost like _something _was missing? Why did he want Draco to respond? To fight with his usual stubbornness? To insult Harry and call him an insufferable, whiny git? Harry _hated _all of that about Malfoy, so why did he want it all back over this dull indifference―this apathy that surely wouldn't affect Harry in the slightest?

Harry sighed deeply, trying to grasp a level of understanding over his own thoughts and emotions. Draco turned his body a few inches, his head still resting on his knees, but rather than facing the fire, he was now watching Harry. "I'm fine."

"No, you're not." The reply was out of Harry's mouth before he could even fully comprehend Draco's response, and he felt a twinge of guilt as he saw the other boy visibly flinch.

"It's none of your fucking business, Potter."

Harry noticed that the statement still lacked that usual biting edge―how absolutely wrong it was to hear the words that should be filled with such hostility, but in actuality were just empty letters that were strung together.

_What did they do to you?_

Harry shrugged, anxiety washing over him. "Fuck you, Malfoy. I'm just trying to help." He tried to put a decent amount of anger and fire into the statement, trying to get a rise out of Malfoy―trying to push him into reacting, and see if _just maybe_, Harry could ignite that old spark that was missing in the other boy.

He immediately regretted the decision as Draco flinched yet again, seeming to withdraw even further, turning his face in the opposite direction. "Yeah, okay."

Harry felt his jaw drop as he openly gaped at the other boy. He had never―_never―_seen Draco Malfoy back down, especially that early on. He hadn't even _tried_ to fight back with a mild insult or retort. There was absolutely nothing there―no fire, no spark or lightning, no drive for success, no confidence and certainty, no will-power.

"Malf―" Harry broke off, the name catching in his throat because, under these circumstances, it almost felt _too bitter. _"Draco, c'mon."

Draco shrugged a bit in acknowledgment, but didn't turn around. Harry sighed again, running a hand through his hair as he tried to think of something―_anything―_that might possibly get Draco to face him again. He wondered, not for the first time since he woke up, why he didn't just leave. And immediately realized that that thought left a sickening aftertaste in his mouth―even if it _was_ Malfoy, Harry didn't think he could leave someone when they were so... unresponsive.

Harry bit his lip and hesitated for a moment before walking over to where Draco was sitting by the fire. He kneeled down slowly, lifting his hand to place it on Draco's shoulder in what Harry hoped was a comforting gesture. What he hadn't expected was for Draco to recoil harshly, completely removing himself from the touch before it even fully connected. Draco buried his face into his knees and mumbled something unintelligible.

"What?" Harry asked, trying to suppress the urge to, once again, gape at the other boy.

"I said, don't touch me." Draco's whisper was terse, saturated with fear. "Don't touch me, and leave me _alone._" And hidden beneath that fear was an ounce of fire and hostility, almost a warning to Harry that he was entering uncharted territory and he would _not _happy with the results.

Harry sat down, trying to fight past his stupor and gather his thoughts. "What happened to you, Malfoy?"

Although Harry couldn't see Malfoy's face, he could see his shoulders rising and falling more often―more _pronounced_―with every breath he took. For a moment, Harry thought he was sobbing and braced himself for a reaction similar to last night's.

"I said, leave me alone." Draco growled, his voice dangerously low and filled with all the missing animosity that Harry had been waiting for. But something still wasn't quite right―the way Draco's entire body shook with fear and uncertainty so intense that it seemed to disrupt even his vocal cords. This was still so very wrong, and Harry was never one to give up.

"I'm _not _going to leave you alone, you ungrateful arse! There's obviously something very, _very _wrong, and I _will not _have your blood on my hands!" He hissed, hoping against all odds that something he said would strike a nerve with Malfoy.

"_Pardon?_ "

"You heard me."

"What do you think I'm going to do? Off myself? You're off your fuckin' rocker, Potter." Draco offered a dark, humorless chuckle, still refusing to meet Harry's gaze. It almost seemed as though he was hiding something from the brunette.

"Look at me, you annoying twit. Didn't _Lucius _teach you that it's bloody well rude to ignore a person when they're trying to talk to you? Father of the fuckin year, isn't he?" Harry continued, his voice sharp and filled with a pseudo-mockery; trying anything to get the blond to react―to get him to turn around and reveal whatever secret he was hiding in those ashen eyes.

Suddenly, Draco spun around and faced Harry with what could only be called the single-most intense form of hatred that Harry had ever seen. His eyes were brimming with such a fierce fire that his irises looked like pools of molten-hot silver, consuming him with revulsion. His entire body was quivering with emotion, no longer shaking from fear, but rather blind rage. Never in his entire life had Harry seen a fury that thick―a contempt that ran so deeply Harry could actually _feel _Malfoy's magic buzzing around the atmosphere. "Lucius Malfoy is _not _my father, do you understand me, Potter? He deserves to burn in hell," he growled.

And just as quickly as it came, the anger vanished into a fear and panic so stifling that in a matter of seconds, Malfoy had tears streaming down the sides of his cheeks. The molten silver was no longer filled with fire, but rather ice, turning everything cold, gray, dark and detached. Even as Draco's trembling grew more pronounced, he tried to remain dignified, keeping a straight face that contrasted with the emotion swimming within his slate gaze. He swallowed, nodding a little before tightening his grip around his knees and looking down.

"Malfoy?" Harry whispered, his voice barely holding as he fought against the more recent wave of confusion and guilt. "I... I'm sorry. For whatever it was that I said... I was trying― you're just so―" He swallowed hard, trying to grasp a coherent thought from the mess that was currently swarming within his head. "I'm _sorry._" And the last word was uttered with such a genuine concern that even Harry was left without a further thought.

He simply couldn't fathom what it was about the other boy that made their past differences just melt away―that made Harry question everything he had ever known about not only Draco, but about himself, as well. Seeing Malfoy so emotionally mutilated was affecting _Harry_, and for the life of him, he just couldn't understand that.

Draco closed his eyes, nodding once again. He seemed to be humming with the fear that had been perpetually instilled within him since the night before, his entire form rigid and tense. Harry continued to watch him for a moment, trying to find all the pieces to this puzzle and simply understand what could have possibly happened to the other boy that would make him so utterly distraught.

Harry bit his lip, his gaze never wavering from the distressed boy in front of him. "You're not going to tell me what happened, are you?" he asked, quietly.

"You're right dense if you thought that I was going to."

"Will you tell me _anything_?"

"I'll tell you to leave me alone again, if you'd like," Draco said, as he offered a weak chuckle.

Harry smiled, deciding that yes, he was making _some _progress, however minuscule it might be. He knew that it would take endless perseverance and caution to get the other boy to open up and come around, but suddenly, spending time with Draco Malfoy didn't seem like such a inconvenience. Harry had always found a level of contentment within the consistencies that he had in life, and as reluctant as he was to admit it, Draco had always been _consistent_, if nothing else.

And for some reason, Harry couldn't stand the thought of losing that.

Although he hated Malfoy and everything he'd done to him and his friends over the years, he couldn't bear the though of losing their heated arguments and scathing fights. His thoughts and views seemed to be stuck within a paradox, all of his conflicting emotions battling for dominance.

And there was only one thing that Harry was certain of when it came to his rivalry with Draco Malfoy: that is was _different._ It contrasted with everyone else around Harry―everyone that took pride in him, that encouraged him, and told him that he could do anything _just_ because he was _Harry bloody Potter._

Draco had _never _been like that.

Draco had never placed Harry up on a pedestal, put on display to be praised and admired for occurrences in which he had no control over. Draco belittled him; he fought, argued, and insulted Harry in every way he could think of, until the both of them were left seething with blind rage. He could say one word, and somehow, cause Harry's blood to boil―cause every synapse and nerve in Harry's body to just vibrate with emotion. No, Malfoy had never _encouraged _Harry.

He _challenged _him.

And Harry refused to lose that constant provocation in his life―the very thing that had driven him and had given him a reason to actually _prove _himself.

No, Harry decided, he would _not_ lose that.

He would fix Draco Malfoy if it was the very last thing he ever did.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Initially, this was just suppose to be an experimental one-shot, something to help me practice writing in third-person as well as play around with the characters and get a bit more comfortable with the Harry Potter fandom. But, well, it seems as though this story has a mind of it's own―it has already developed into something much larger than I had thought possible, and it's just begging to be shared. I'm still so new to Harry Potter, so please keep in mind that I'm writing strictly with what I know. I've tried desperately to keep all of the information correct and accurate, as well as trying to make sure everyone remains in-character, so needless to say, I'm terribly nervous about posting this and receiving feedback.

I'm still not sure about how long this story will end up being, but I'm definitely working hard to write future chapters and develop a strong plot, so I hope everyone can remain patient with me regarding updates.

Also, thanks to everyone who has been reading and reviewing any of my stories. I can't tell you how much I appreciate all the lovely comments and encouragement. And also, thanks to hpgirl4ever, who helped me edit the first few chapters of this story! :D

And finally, I hope everyone enjoyed reading this, and I would really, really love to hear some of your thoughts and opinions. So please review? Pretty please? :)


	2. Chapter 2: Danger: 400 Bolts

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters involved. No copyright infringement intended.

* * *

Draco spent the rest of the evening watching the fire burning in the hearth, embers falling upon the black masonry of the fireplace and dissolving into ash. His entire semblance seemed to gradually relax, his muscles loosening and his form unraveling from the tight ball that he'd been in all morning.

Harry had watched Draco for hours, trying to sort out his own thoughts and emotions while simultaneously trying to find a trace of that old, familiar arrogance that Draco used to emit. He sighed deeply and cast a quick _Tempus _spell, before standing from his spot by the fire, not garnering even a slight reaction from the blond.

"I'm going to the Great Hall for dinner..." Harry paused, waiting to see if that would elicit any sort of response from the other boy. "Brilliant," he said, rolling his eyes when Malfoy refused to acknowledge him. "You're not going to leave then, are you?" And Harry refused to admit, even to himself, just how much concern was evident within his last question.

"Where in the bloody hell would I―" Draco paused, his eyebrows pulling together for a moment as he considered his words. "No... no, I won't leave."

Harry blinked. "I might ask you to clarify on that later."

"And I might tell you to sod off and then proceed to ignore you again... Why are you coming back anyway? Too dense to realize when you're not wanted?" Despite his words, Draco's tone was dull and empty in a way that made Harry's skin crawl―his entire perception thrown off by the lack of emotion and fire. Draco was simply going through the motions, not putting any effort or heat behind the words he spoke, and it was something Harry would never get used to.

"Well, I figure even a git like you needs to eat."

"How thoughtful, Potter... Do tell me why it's any of your concern?"

"Oh, piss off, Malfoy. Can't you at least _pretend _to be grateful for once in your life?" Harry scowled, his frustration at the lack of emotion in Malfoy's words showing through his own.

Draco averted his gaze to the fire once again and mumbled something so quietly that Harry couldn't possibly make out the words. He watched the other boy for a moment, trying to understand the confused―almost petulant―expression that had now settled across the blond's features.

"What?"

"I am, alright? I'm grateful... that you're staying with me." Draco frowned, looking down as he spoke. Harry's eyebrows raised slightly, noticing the hidden emotion buried beneath the two sentences―something almost like shy resentment. "I don't know why... but I actually do prefer your company over no one's."

The room fell silent as Draco turned to watch the flames burning, his expression devoid of all emotion yet again. Harry swallowed hard, trying to formulate a response but too shocked to think clearly. His question had been asked out of frustration―he hadn't actually _expected_ Draco to be grateful for his company. Although, it seemed as though Harry's entire universe had been flipped on it's axis, so why not throw one more oddity into the mix?

He nodded, more to himself than Draco, considering the other boy was no longer paying any attention to him whatsoever, and walked out of the door without further comment. Harry walked through the corridors toward the Great Hall, completely oblivious to the unfamiliar brown eyes, hidden in the shadows, that followed his every move; not noticing as the shrouded form turned around angrily, robes billowing behind them as they stalked in the opposite direction.

* * *

It was five days later before Draco spoke again, never once leaving the Room of Requirement, and gaining a gradual dependency on Harry. It was a mutual understand the two seemed to have, residing within each other to simply feel a level of tranquility and relaxation―and the irony of that did not go unnoticed by either of them, but it was something they refused to acknowledge, regardless.

Harry had tried to talk to the other boy―had tried to get him to open up or merely hold a casual conversation, but for five days, Draco remained completely silent.

Harry wasn't even quite sure what exactly it was that compelled him to stay with Malfoy―to keep returning with basic necessities for the blond who wouldn't even speak a single word to him―but it was a welcome escape for a few hours each day. Oddly enough, it provided him with the quiet, calm atmosphere that he longed for, allowing him to read quietly, study, or simply watch the other boy sit, his features dull and emotionless except for the few moments when some unknown emotion would spark within his eyes.

It almost seemed like fear, something so deeply embedded into the other boy's slate gaze. As though living, in and of itself, was a terrifying experience for the blond, as though every single moment was spent _remembering _whatever had happened to him and trying to find even an ounce of security in a place where none existed.

Whatever had happened to the other boy, Harry thought, must have been absolutely and utterly toxic. To completely annihilate the foundation and structure that _was _Draco Malfoy―his arrogance, his self-assurance and confidence, his fire and determination―all of that was missing.

Harry supposed that was why he kept coming back―he was simply _curious_. That was all. Nothing more. He wanted to know what exactly happened to the other boy; what it was that had completely destroyed every fiber of his being and left him a mere shell of the person he used to be.

Draco was still situated in front of the fire when he finally spoke, his voice meek and timid. "Why exactly do you keep coming back, Potter?" The intent was so obviously malicious, but the delivery was so weak that Harry couldn't help but chuckle darkly.

"Oh? You've decide to speak now, have you?"

"Well getting you to leave me alone was the desired effect. Ignoring you wasn't working, so I―"

Harry didn't even lift his gaze from the book he was reading as he quickly cut the other boy off. "You've already told me that you're grateful I'm here, you can drop the act now."

Draco quirked an eyebrow, watching Harry for a moment before speaking. "Alright then," Draco sighed. "Fine, I'll drop the act... If you tell me why you keep coming back. I'm bloody well curious."

Harry's eyes met the blond's for only a second before he returned to his novel, flipping the page without thought. "I don't know."

"What do you mean 'you don't know', you insufferable git? Everyone always has a motive." Draco asked genuinely, his expression falling into a confused scowl.

Harry sighed, shutting his book and setting it aside as he watched the other boy carefully for a moment. He noticed the way the blond was watching him, his gaze dull and blank except for the questions that lingered within them, as well as the residual fear. Draco's entire demeanor was still so tense, almost as though he was bracing himself for something unknown to Harry―preparing himself for an attack. Draco mumbled something unintelligible, resting his head on his knees as he waited for Harry to acknowledge his response.

"Well, I'm sure I do have a reason... I'm just not exactly clear on it myself, quite yet," Harry replied, leaning his head against the back of the couch and staring up at the ceiling.

And Harry intentionally ignored the question that was on the tip of his tongue―_why haven't _you_ left yet, Draco?_―because he knew he would never get an answer. No, Harry never asked and Draco never told, but the true reason that Draco never left the Room of Requirement hung in the air between them―he was _hiding._

Harry stayed like that for a long while, his eyes closing as he let his thoughts consume him completely. He gradually felt himself drifting to sleep, no longer wondering about the other boy as darkness consumed him.

* * *

It was a dark, frightening sound that caused Harry to stir later that night, something that was so painstakingly loud and fervent that he was immediately alert, his skin crawling with fear. He sat up quickly, searching his now dark surroundings in attempt to find the source of the tortured noise.

His gaze finally caught on the form laying in the bed, body curled in on itself, clutching the pillow desperately, and face skewered into an expression of pure, unadulterated agony. Harry noticed immediately the way Draco's body thrashed and convulsed, tears pouring down the side of his face and blending with the moisture already present across his fevered skin.

It didn't take long for Harry to jump into action, running to Draco's side to restrain him before he could hurt himself with his reckless thrashing. But the moment Harry's hands rested on the other boy's shoulders, all movement ceased completely as Draco's back arched off from the bed, his eyes clenching tightly shut and his entire body stiffening.

And suddenly Draco was sobbing, a strangled sound that was filled with such a tormented affliction that Harry immediately released his shoulders, stepping back a few feet. The reaction was immediate as Draco calmed just a bit, and rather than sobbing he seemed to be gasping for air.

Harry didn't dare touch him again as Draco opened his eyes―frantic and blood-shot as he searched his surroundings. His gaze stuck when it finally connected with Harry''s taut form, and he was gasping as though fighting for oxygen as tears poured down his sallow cheeks.

"Don't... Fucking... Touch me," the blond gasped out in between breaths, eyes filled with such a scarred fear and resentment, it was almost palpable in the air surrounding them.

"W-what just fucking happened, Malfoy? Bloody hell, I thought I _killed _you!" Harry's voice was frantic, and he felt uncertain as to how such a tortured reaction was humanly possible.

Draco forced himself to sit up, trying to calm himself down as he buried his face into his hands. "Just... Don't touch me, alright?" he whispered.

"Tell me what the _fuck _just happened," Harry growled, trying his best to glare at the other boy but finding it difficult to do as he watched the crumpled form convulsing quietly.

"I don't have any idea, alright?" Draco suddenly shouted, his hands gripping his hair and pulling roughly. "It's that _bloody fucking curse... _the, uh..." he paused, tugging his hair as though it would help him remember. "The _Incendium _Curse... feels like your entire body is on fire, and I don't..." he mumbled, shaking his head. "I think it sparks when other people touch me unexpectedly..." Draco's entire body seemed to tense up even further, his muscles coiled up like a spring getting ready to snap as his gaze finally met Harry's. "I was having a nightmare... And then you touched me, and I could fucking _feel _everything that was happening." Draco's shudder was apparent as he wrapped his arms around his knees, his face buried as tremors continued to rattle him.

"Draco, you _need _to tell me what happened to you―"

"Surely your not that dense? I'm not telling you anything," Draco growled harshly. "Especially not right now, you insensitive prick."

Harry watched the other boy, feeling utterly helpless―seeing the way he was so desperately clinging to the blankets as though grasping for a sense of comfort and simply not being able to reach it. It was in the way that his voice shook―the way that his tears didn't stop sliding down the side of his face as though he'd lost all hope―that Harry knew just how much this was utterly killing Malfoy. The resulting sympathy was so abrupt and intense that Harry could feel his eyes burning with sadness.

"Just... tell me what I can do, alright? Because I don't know," Harry said quietly, pleading. "You're hurt, and I mean, you are _really _hurt. And I'm trying, Malfoy, I'm really fucking trying to help you here."

Draco's grip around his knees tightened, as though to try and make himself smaller as he listened to Harry's words. The past few days, Harry could see that his nemesis was rapidly deteriorating. It was obvious in the way that he would openly rejected a majority of the food that Harry had been bringing him, his restless nights that were weighing heavily on not only his appearance but his already worn out personality, as well. But in many ways the other boy had been a lot more subtle, as though trying to hide any evidence of further weakness. Harry immediately thought of all of the times he'd gazed over and seen the other boy shivering, either out of fear or as a result of the cold-edged darkness that had seemed to settle over him. He thought of the way that, sometimes when Draco would shift or stand, he would whimper quietly, a sound that was so quiet and compressed that it was obvious he was trying to muffle it. It almost seemed as though an undefinable pain had been permanently bound to the other boy, a sickness―whether it be an after-effect of all the curses he had endured or a result of something unknown―that was promptly consuming him.

Harry knew something had to be done or the other boy would simply cease to exist.

"_Draco,_ tell me what to do." And Harry's voice was so desperate―delicate and tender in the way he delivered the request, just hoping that it would be enough to elicit a response from the other boy.

"I just need you to..." Draco paused, his voice catching in his throat as he uncoiled from his ball and lifted his right hand towards Harry, almost as though he was gesturing for him. "C'mere for a second. Slowly."

Harry's eyebrows pulled together for a moment before he took a small step toward the bed, his movements controlled and steady until he stood just inches from Draco's outstretched hand. The blond closed his eyes slowly, holding his breath as he reached forward, so very carefully letting his palm rest on Harry's chest. His expression was one of careful determination and concentration.

When there was no pain nor reaction, Draco allowed his eyes to open, releasing the breath he'd been holding as his steel-gray eyes met Harry's dark irises. "Alright, could you just..." Draco paused, his eyes closing once again as he swallowed hard, nodding resolutely to himself. "Would you come up here with me?" he gestured vaguely, moving a little on the bed to make room as he watched Harry with an edge of desperation.

Harry noted _just _how much anxiety and hopelessness seemed to fill the other boy's gaze, almost as though he would do anything to get a remote sense of comfort and security. Draco was searching for an outlet―any ounce of potential warmth that he could find, _needing_ it almost as much as he needed the very oxygen that he breathed in quick succession.

Harry nodded slowly, crawling on the bed and facing the blond with a look of uncertainty―so willing to help him no matter what the consequences at this point, but unsure exactly _how_ to go about doing that.

Draco pulled Harry down, both of them resting in the middle of the bed as Draco curled into Harry's side, easing into the embrace and resting his head on the brunette's shoulder. Harry barely moved at all, so hesitant and cautious to ensure that he made no mistakes; it was almost as though the both of them were balanced on the head of a pin, and any slight side-step could potentially cause mass destruction for the both of them.

After a few moments, Draco seemed to sigh contentedly, his arm draped over Harry's waist as he nuzzled deeper into the other boy's warmth. And as awkward as it _should_ have been, it was oddly comforting for the both of them―a shared warmth spreading throughout both of their bodies as Draco pulled Harry impossibly closer.

"I thought you said to not touch you..." Harry whispered so quietly, terrified to upset the current balance.

"Just no sudden movements, alright? It's like a trigger, I think," Draco responded, his voice equally as soft and delicate.

And Harry, so very slowly and gently, lifted his arm, wrapping it around the other boy's shoulders and hesitantly pulling him closer. He released a deep sigh of relief when Draco didn't scream out in pain, and allowed his muscles to loosen just a bit as he relaxed into the embrace.

Harry wasn't exactly sure what about this situation felt so poignantly _right_, but it was something... Perhaps the way Draco's body seemed to mold perfectly into his, the warmth permeating through the two bodies and comforting him in a way that he would have never expected.

He remembered five nights ago, the two of them sleeping in a similar position on the couch, and how... _pleasant _the feeling seemed to be even then, when Harry _hadn't _known the true extent of Draco's immense fear. It felt almost habitual to hold his one-time enemy in his arms, cradling him to provide the illusion that Harry was protecting him from the world―whatever it would take to get him to calm down and find a sense of complacency.

Harry allowed his hand to gently―_slowly and carefully_―sift thought the blond's hair once again, listening closely to his breathing to identify whether he had fallen asleep. It was in the way that Harry could hear the steady heartbeat of the other boy beating against his left side, the rhythmic breathing that was regular and controlled that Harry found a deep sense of comfort―an ease that was the product of _ensuring_ the other boy's safety.

And somewhere in the duration of the night, Harry gathered a bit of insight on his views toward the blond who was currently curled into his side; he wasn't just helping Draco out of obligation, or even for personal gain and curiosity...

He _cared_.

* * *

**Author's Note:** First of all, I want to say thanks again to everyone who has read and reviewed the first chapter! I cannot tell you how much I appreciate it, and all of the positive feedback definitely helps speed my writing up a bit. You guys are awesome.

Secondly, any spells or charms that I make up are derived from Latin roots that I have searched, so if there is any uncertainty regarding anything, please don't hesitate to ask. This chapter was a bit shorter than the first one, but this was the best place for me to stop the chapter. I do have a bit already pre-written (approximately four chapters), because I wanted to make sure that I was able to start the story off with regular updates to set up the basis and foundation. I cannot promise that future updates will happen this often, considering college and other real life distractions, but I will definitely try my hardest.

And finally, thoughts and opinions? I'm so very curious to see what people think of this story. My muse likes to think that your reviews are candy and caffeine, and oh, how he loves his sweets. :D


	3. Chapter 3: Rekindled Cinders

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters involved. No copyright infringement intended.

* * *

"_'Ey, where you off to, mate?"_

"_Studying, Ron."_

"_Harry? You've been wandering off an awful lot, lately... You're sure everything's alright?"_

"_Fine, fine, 'Mione... Just preparing for the, uh... N.E.W.T.s? Yeah."_

"_But―"_

"_I'll see you later, guys."_

Harry immediately swept through the corridors following the dismissal of his Transfiguration class, trying desperately to _not_ notice the way Ron and Hermione watched his retreating form. Their growing suspicion had become gradually more obvious and predominant over the past couple days, and even still, Harry's urgency and desperation to return to Malfoy could not be surpassed by his guilt. Ever since the beginning of class, Harry had this almost niggling unease etched into his mind―it felt as though something was utterly _wrong._

As he walked, Harry found himself thinking back to the previous night―the fear that rattled him to his very core when he'd seen his blond rival thrashing in his sleep―and he couldn't contain the shudder that infiltrated throughout his system. It was a type of anxiety that Harry had scarcely felt in the past, a foreboding uncertainty that was drastically different from the usual adrenaline-producing vehemence he would feel whenever dealing with the Dark Lord.

And it had left its mark on Harry; a deep concern that had nestled its way beneath his ribcage when he had left Malfoy alone that morning. How could he possibly be so sure that _that_ wouldn't happen again while he was gone?

He continued his trek down the hallway, his crimson and golden scarf practically dragging on the floor behind him.

"Oi, Harry!"

Harry was suddenly met with a tight grip that encompassed his bicep and successfully stopped him in his tracks. He looked up slowly, his comprehension clouded by the abrupt intervention.

"Oh, hey, Seamus... Look, I really need to get to the libra―"

"Have you heard what everyone's been sayin'? Have you seen Malfoy 'round lately?" Harry took in Seamus' deeply bemused expression―his eyebrows furrowed and his lips set in a tight line―before his words finally sank in.

Harry immediately felt his pulse rate pick up, eyes widening for a moment and his stomach dropping with the fear of having his secret found out. "Seamus? Why would I know where Malfoy's at?" he mumbled, eyes downcast before quickly jumping up to meet Seamus' attentive gaze.

"That's just it, Harry! No one does. Been gone for days, he has... Everyone's sayin' how he's taken the Mark, not returnin' to class so he can do You-Know-Who's bidding," Seamus whispered, leaning in conspiratorially. "You think it's true?"

Feeling a deep abyss opening in the pit of his stomach and something akin to consternation settling across him, Harry struggle to retain composure. He forced a calm demeanor, his back straightening as a mask of casual distaste consumed his expression―a struggle to manage against the panic that seemed to be eating at his insides. "Hm? Well, I suppose that does sound about right for a Malfoy heir―Voldemort's number one marionette of all dark affairs..." Harry paused, frowning as he noticed Seamus' slight flinch. "I've got to go, Seamus... I'll talk to you later, alright?"

With that, Harry turned and stalked off in the direction of the Room of Requirement, his heart pounding faster against his ribcage with every step he took.

* * *

Control.

It had never been a factor Harry was too reliant on during times of stress―never one of his best attributes as he seemed to operate on pure impulse. He was quick, furious and often reckless in his ambitions to help others, and his friends had frequently told him that his magical aura behaved similarly―that, at times, it seemed to cast almost a fiery semblance around his entire form. His magic was fierce and vehement―almost untamed and sporadic when it would reach certain heights―and it was _powerful. _If nothing else, Harry knew his magic was simply _destructive._

He supposed that was why everyone had so much faith in his ability to defeat Voldemort.

So when Harry entered the Room of Requirement and saw Draco curled into the fetal position and unmoving on the bed, he didn't even allow his mind to comprehend the normalcy of the sight before him. All morning he'd felt as though something was off, and seeing Draco so listless caused something to snap inside of him, a fear so immense coursing through his body as he charged forward without further thought.

His memory didn't have time to catch up with him―to simply _remind _him of the night before and how terrible the consequences would be should he startle the blond with his touch. So he continued, his hands grasping Draco's shoulders to shake him into response.

The effects were immediate as Draco's entire body stiffened, muscles tightening, eyes clenching shut as an ear-splinting wail erupted from within the depths of his chest. In the mere millisecond that it took Harry to realize the horrible mistake he'd made, Draco's expression had contorted into one of pure agony, tears trailing down his face.

Harry jumped back immediately, and he found himself staring down at his open hands, as though expecting to see a mass of heated flames. He watched, waiting for the resulting ashes to reveal themselves across his palms―the residual embers that had burned the very person he was trying to protect―but they never appeared.

"What the _fuck, _Potter?"

Harry looked up to see Draco's quaking form once again, and was flooded with a sense of déjà vu. Wasn't it only last night that he'd been standing in this same position? The very person that was _hurting _Malfoy?

"I'm _sorry_!" Harry said as he felt a burning sensation ignite behind his eyes. "You weren't moving... I thought something was wrong..."

"I was _sleeping_, you imbecile!" Malfoy growled, his hands angrily swiping at his tears. His gray eyes were alight with rage―fear coiling around the edges as he tried to regain his composure.

"I didn't know," Harry said, quietly.

"Why do you care so much, anyway?" Draco seethed as he clutched the crimson fleece in a vice grip. "You just _keep coming back._"

Harry's defenses were rising as he took a step back, trying to put a little more distance between himself and the obviously distraught blond. The fear, pain, and anger were obvious but something else seemed to be veiled beneath the fierce emotions―something like curiosity and perhaps just an ounce of appreciation. Harry noticed that, although Malfoy was showing the fervid emotions that Harry had been trying to evoke for the past week, the other boy was bordering on hysterical once again. It left Harry feeling oddly nauseous as he took another cautious step away from the blond. "I already told you _I don't know_... I don't just want to leave you here alon―"

"Because if you think I'm just another innocent martyr that you've rescued... If you think you can _fucking _fix me, then you're wrong, Potter... You don't know _anything_."

Harry felt his face heat up, and he couldn't seem to understand why he was fighting back so vehemently. "You know that's bullshit, Malfoy, I don't fucking care about what hap―"

"No, _that's _bullshit, Potter! Fucking _bullshit_!" Draco was shouting now, his face red from exertion and his entire body shaking from emotion. "Don't you dare come here every night and then pretend you don't fucking care," the blond paused, his entire disposition relaxing as his charcoal gray eyes met Harry intense green ones. "Tell me why you come back... Please, just tell me why you always _fucking _come back?"

Harry realized that the tears, flowing more rapidly now, seemed to expose the other boy's true feelings―a level of desperation and sheer _need _for another person's warmth and compassion. It seemed to Harry as though Draco had finally reached his maximum capacity―his emotions finally overwhelming him and causing even his vacant sheath to falter under the immensity of it all.

Harry felt a lump form in the back of his throat, and he just couldn't _think _right. Draco was treading on the verge of insanity and Harry had absolutely no idea how to help him. It was like watching a train wreck the distance, seeing the destruction and utter chaos as it unfolds but being incapable of stopping it.

Harry couldn't remember a time when he'd ever felt this incompetent.

"Leave." Draco's quiet command was muffled as he buried his face in his hands. It seemed as though he was merely postponing the inevitable breakdown that was rapidly approaching. Harry could hear the figurative diesel-fueled locomotive approaching in the distance, horn blaring to try and warn of the forthcoming downfall.

"I'm not leaving, Draco," Harry said, voice subdued and warm.

Draco's muscles were tense, tight, shaking and worn from the strain. "Leave me the _fuck _alone, Potter!" The moisture on his cheeks lingered, tears falling more often.

"No."

Harry could feel the atmosphere shifting, and Draco's magic seemed to go hay-wire, their surroundings buzzing like a rogue nerve.

"_Leave!_"

"_No._"

And suddenly―without further warning or preamble―Draco broke down completely. Sobs erupted from within the depths of his chest, such an agonized and tortured noise that for a moment, Harry considered whether Malfoy could actually be in blatant, physical pain. Draco's face was buried his knees, his entire body coiled in a ball as though trying to withdraw into himself completely.

And before Harry was even aware he had moved, he was walking toward the other boy, his actions instinctive and cautious. He knew enough about Draco now to know how the blond would react. Harry had spent all week with Malfoy―watching him as one would watch a ticking time bomb―and every little mannerism, facial expression, and response has been noted and kept in the back of Harry's mind for safe keeping. He had been vigilant with every little detail, _just fucking _waiting for when this moment would come. For when Draco would break completely and only Harry would be around to pick up the scattered and jagged pieces, putting them back together, and for what reason? Why_?_

_Because I'm worried about the stupid prat.  
_

Harry was next to Draco in mere moments, his hand reaching out to the other boy before stopping in mid-air. How could he possibly console and soothe the blond without startling him with his fiery touch? It was a perilous situation he was in, the desire to comfort Malfoy nearly overwhelming his rational thoughts that screamed _do not touch_. "Draco?" His voice was soft and sympathizing, a silent request obvious within the two-syllable name.

Slowly, Harry's hand reached forward―so hesitant and tentative―and within moments, his palm made quiet contact with the blond's shoulder. Harry's resolve solidified when the other boy did not scream out, but instead leaned into his touch, instinctively reaching out for the warmth.

And he found himself crawling onto the bed next to the distraught boy, laying the both of them down and pulling Draco into his arms as he had the night before. Only now something had changed, and there seemed to be a level of intricacy that held the two of them bound to one another. Harry felt as though he was dropping from the edge of a cliff, plummeting into a sea of emotions and something almost like affection wrapping itself around his entire body. A warmth had settled over him as he held the other boy impossibly closer, just trying to maintain as much physical contact as was humanly possible. He buried his face in the soft, blond tresses, nuzzling closer and trying―so, so desperately―to comfort the traumatized boy.

And Draco... Well, Draco held onto Harry as though his very life depended on it, clutching desperately at the brunette's navy jumper. He buried his face into the crook of Harry's neck, eyes clenched shut as though to hold the unremitting tears at bay. His outer shell had finally cracked and Malfoy was completely exposed―vulnerable and needing Harry so much that it was physically obvious.

Suddenly, Harry knew _exactly_ why he always stayed with Malfoy―why he was so adamant about returning and worrying about the blond when he couldn't be near him. Oh, yes, now it seemed as though Harry was fully capable of understand _exactly_ how much he cared for Draco.

"You wanna know why I always come back, Draco?" Harry's face nuzzled deeper into Malfoy's hair, his lips lingering against the blond's forehead and leaving an almost inconspicuous kiss. He closed his eyes, hoping that it would help hide his own tears, filling his gaze and sliding one-by-one down the side of his face. "I fucking care about you."

Draco pulled him closer, his grasp tightening as he clung to Harry's side. "You're lying," he growled, voice low and still trembling with suppressed sobs. "You're fucking lying to me."

"I'm not," Harry murmured, and his voice so soft and warm and comforting and it was everything that he knew Draco needed to hear.

"I hate you... I fucking _hate you _so much."

"You don't," Harry said, counting Draco's rapid heartbeats as he had the night before. He hoped they would slow soon, that the other boy would find a ounce of peace and be able to sleep.

"You don't know _anything_, Potter." A soft whimper, followed by a choked sob. "You don't know what all I've done... And if you did, you would hate me." Draco's voice wavered so much that his broken whisper was almost incomprehensible. "You don't care enough."

"You're wrong." Harry leaned down and placed another chaste kiss on the blond's forehead, lips lingering once again. "I care about you," he paused, swallowing hard. "And there's nothing that you could do to change that."

"You're lying," Draco mumbled, but his words were quickly losing their potency and becoming more sleep-addled. His grip loosened and his muscles gradually relaxed into the embrace. Malfoy sighed softly, and it was almost as though the entire ambiance in the room shifted to something so much more serene. "I'm so fucking tired of this, Harry."

Harry stayed awake for hours, holding the sleeping blond that wouldn't stop shivering and shaking no matter how tightly Harry held onto him. It was the chills that had been Malfoy's constant companion for the entire week, and Harry was almost beginning to wonder if there wasn't some deeper issue that was causing this reaction. It was as though the other boy just couldn't find any warmth at all, which contrasted immensely with the fact that Draco's skin was always flushed and warm to the touch.

Harry counted Draco's heartbeats until his own eyes finally shut and sleep took him to a dark, peaceful place in the back of his mind.

But one thought stuck even through his sleep-addled haze, and it was something that bothered Harry deeply.

Draco's heartbeats never slowed.

* * *

Harry awoke later that evening to the sound of harsh breathing coming from the form next to him. He opened his eyes slowly, noticing that it still appeared to be dark outside, before he turned his attention to the other boy still curled against his side. It took very little observation to realized that Draco was very much so awake and obviously having some difficulties catching his breath.

Harry felt his eyebrows pull together in confusion—the blond had been lying with him throughout the entire night, and there was no reason his breathing should be so labored, almost to the point of complete hyperventilation. Harry very carefully rested his hand on Draco's shoulder, showing him that he was awake when Malfoy's gaze met his. There was an unmistakable confusion—almost a sense of panic—in the blond's gaze, and Harry couldn't help but frown slightly at the sight.

"Can't..." Draco gasped, voice raspy and worn as a result from the struggle. "Breath?" And the last word was almost uttered as a question, as though Malfoy couldn't possibly fathom what would be causing this reaction either.

Harry's mind raced to find a solution as he absentmindedly started rubbing the blond's back, hoping that it would help him in someway. Draco scowled and winced but allowed the contact as he let his eyes fall shut, trying to concentrate on his ragged breathing.

Draco's entire face was flushed and Harry could feel his frown deepen just as his hand caught on the hem of Malfoy's shirt. His palm gently slid across the smooth expanse of Draco's back before he immediately noticed the jagged and rough patches of damaged skin.

Malfoy's eyes flew open immediately and he pushed himself backwards, trying desperately to get out of Harry's grip. It was unsuccessful attempted as Harry pulled him closer—obviously stronger than the other boy—and turned him slightly before lifting that back of Draco's shirt just enough to reveal the open wounds that ran down his back in deep, rigid lacerations.

There were patches of third degree burns all over, and in the places where there were no burns, there were deep cuts and bruises. The largest incision ran from beneath Draco's right shoulder blade all the way down to the small of his back, trailing over the burns and smaller cuts in several places; the dark blue and purple bruises that littered the entire area were fading to a green-ish yellow.

Every single wound, cut, burn, and tear in the delicate skin was fresh, just barely beginning to scab over and heal, and Harry knew that it was the product of whatever had happened to the blond over a week ago. He couldn't stop his eyes from trailing over the marred flesh several times, disbelieving of the sight before him.

It was many moments later before Harry realized that Draco was struggling desperately in his gentle hold, his voice filling the air with empty threats that Harry hadn't noticed in the duration of his shocked scrutiny. "_Stop fucking touching me, Potter!_" was the only thing that Harry truly heard as Draco finally broke away from his faltering grip.

The blond faced Harry was a dark scowl—eyes filled with so much hostility and anger that, for a moment, Harry forgot about the situation and circumstances, almost believing the past week and a half had never happened. Draco's deadly glare didn't falter as he shifted further away from Harry, standing from the bed and wincing only slightly at the sheer agony he must be feeling from his mutilated back. "You know, just because _I_ found a loophole in this bloody fire curse, doesn't mean you get to touch me at your own volition, thank you very fucking much," he growled, his breathing still irregular, but it didn't decrease the level of vexation in his tone.

"Wh—" Harry started, shaking his head to clear his thoughts before he faced Draco with an equally heated scowl. "What the _fuck_, Malfoy? _That's _what you have to say?" Draco merely raised an eyebrow, actually _managing _the impervious stance that had been missing for so, so long. _Well_, Harry thought bitterly, _at least his personality is returning_. "How are you even standing right now, your back is—" Harry hissed, frowning as an idea struck him. "Where else are you hurt at, Malfoy? Are those burns and cuts covering _your entire fucking body_?"

Draco sneered, rolling his eyes as he lifted the front of his shirt, revealing more bruises and lacerations but nothing compared to the blond's back. "I've dealt with it for a week now, haven't I?" The other boy's gaze shifted for a moment, his demeanor faltering as an almost shy uncertainty filled his expression. "Mind over matter... You get used to it, I guess."

"_'You get used to it'_ ?" Harry repeated skeptically. "Are you fucking kidding me? Your entire body is completely _mutilated_, Draco."

"It's just my torso and back," Draco growled suddenly, fiery eyes meeting Harry's once again.

Harry's gaze softened significantly, taking in the sight of Draco's tense and defensive posture, and almost smiling from the relief of seeing the other boy behaving in the way he used to. _This _was the Draco Malfoy that Harry knew. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Draco's stance buckled, eyebrow raising in an almost sarcastic sneer. "I don't need to be coddled over, Potter. I'm not an invalid."

"We need to go to St. Mungo's—"

"_No!_" Malfoy seethed, his anger flaring as he took on the disposition of an almost petulant child. Harry thought for a moment that Draco was even going to go as far as to stamp his foot in outright defiance. "I _can't _leave, Harry... Merlin, you're dense. I thought that much would have been obvious by now."

"Well, then I need to—"

"And you can't tell anyone I'm here!" Draco actually did stamp his foot this time, and Harry was surprised when the blond didn't even remotely wince from the agitation his body surely felt from the action.

Harry could only watch Draco for several moments, his expression completely blank as a maelstrom of thoughts pervaded his mind. Malfoy's personality was returning quickly and fiercely in a way that had Harry almost speechless; the flood of emotion from earlier must have completely broken through whatever barricade had held them back so effectively. It was a relief to Harry to see the blond so active, but in other ways, it was completely mind-boggling.

_The physical pain must be utterly unbearable._

"Draco, listen to me," Harry said as soon as he gathered his thoughts, sighing deeply as he faced the indignant blond. "You're sick, alright? Will you please, for one moment, try to think rationally about this."

"Potter, I swear to Merlin, if you tell anyone where I'm at, I'll—" Draco started, voice dropping to a lethal level.

"Hermione!" Harry shouted abruptly, smiling wide.

Draco faltered for a moment, eyebrows furrowing as he watched Harry with a contemplative gaze. "Would you please tell me what Granger has to do with any of this?"

"She's been studying Muggle medicines and healing spells since fifth year!" Harry said. "There are some incantations that she knows that can diagnose and treat both magic and non-magic related infections."

"You're _not _telling her that I'm here, Potter."

"Oh, come off it, Malfoy... 'Mione won't tell a soul you're here, and you know just as well as I do that you need help," Harry opined, quickly jumping out from beneath the covers and lunging toward the door. He wrapped his Invisibility Cloak around his shoulders as he went, not bothering with trivial aspects such as shoes.

"Potter! Potter, it's the middle of the night! At least have the decency to wait until morn— oh, you stupid prat, I hope you get caught by Filch."

And Harry couldn't contain the smile that overwhelmed his expression as he ran down the corridors toward the Gryffindor tower. Oh yes, Draco Malfoy was back.

* * *

**Author's Note:** I apologize that this chapter has been a bit delayed... It seems as though was having some troubles the past few days and, most of the time, it wouldn't even let me sign in.

Once again, thank you so much to everyone who's been reading and reviewing. I'm going to try and keep replying to all of my reviews, and I'm especially going to try and update this story as often as possible. If you have any questions about anything at all, please don't hesitate to ask me. You can send me a PM, ask me in a review, or even ask me on my Formspring account (the link is available on my profile.)

I hope this chapter lived up to expectations... The plot is certainly developing and I'm really eager to see what people's thoughts and opinions are. So please leave a review? :)


	4. Chapter 4: Lighter Fluid

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters involved.

* * *

Harry tiptoed around the girl's dormitories quietly, evasively swooping through the mass of beds and trunks in search of Hermione's sleeping form. It was with great relief that he saw the mass of bushy, brown hair buried beneath the red blankets at the second to last bed on the left. He sighed, dropping down to eye level as he lifted his hand to Hermione's shoulder and nudged her softly. "'Mione... Hermione, wake up," he whispered softly.

Hermione's large, brown eyes opened slowly, her comprehension fogged by sleep as her eyebrows pulled together in uncertainty. Gradually, awareness returned to her as she met Harry's piercing green eyes, alight with relief and all of the ease that she had noticed was missing from the boy's gaze all week. "Harry? What _are _you doing in here?" she questioned.

"I need your help..." he whispered in reply, eyes dancing across her features in amusement.

Hermione sighed, casting a quick _Tempus _spell before facing her untimely visitor once more. "Oh, Harry, it's three thirty in the morning... Can't it wait unt—"

"Please, 'Mione? I wouldn't be asking unless it was really, _really _important."

She watched him for a moment, trying to figure out what could possible be so important as to wake her up at such an ungodly hour. It was with great curiosity and concern that she finally conceded, slipping into her favorite robe and slippers before joining Harry under the Invisibility Cloak.

"When are you going to tell me where we're doing? This is awfully dangerous, Harry... We could be caught by Filch, you know," she murmured softly, hand gripping Harry's left bicep as they walked down the empty corridors.

"I, uh..." Harry started, clearing his throat for a moment as his gaze shifted to look anywhere except Hermione's eyes. "You know how you've been studying Magical and Muggle healing for the past year and a half? Well, I've encountered a willing, er... test-subject?" Harry's sentence was left as a question, as though being intentionally vague while trying to simultaneously maintain her interests.

"And this couldn't have waited until tomorrow evening?"

Harry frowned. "No, Hermione... It couldn't have," he sighed softly, his previously high spirits abruptly transforming into a conflicted anxiety.

Hermione sobered up immediately at the sudden and drastic change in Harry's entire demeanor. She held on tightly to his arm, following his directions and navigation until they stood in front of the rapidly appearing door. "The Room of Requirement? Is this where you've been running off to all week?" she whispered quietly, watching as the large door faced her in it's completion.

Harry turned to her suddenly, his gaze determined, grim, and fierce all at once. "Hermione... Before we go in, you have to promise me that you will not tell a single person, alright? Not even Ron, no matter what happens."

She was startled by the pure vehemence that her friend was currently displaying, almost an edge of desperation in his green eyes. She nodded silently, watching as the emotions passed across his features.

Once inside the room, Hermione immediately noticed the form that was huddled by the mantle, entire body shivering as the fire's shadow danced across the milky, white flesh. Her breath caught in her throat as she noticed the familiar blond hair, silver eyes turning to face her as soon as the gasp was heard. She stood silently for a moment in complete awe as her best friend walked over to Malfoy's side, so very slowly and gently placing a hand on his shoulder in a comforting gesture. It didn't go unnoticed as Draco hesitantly leaned into the contact, his features softening as Harry whispered something inaudible to him. They continued to converse quietly, Draco nodding and reacting often with what appeared to be civil responses. It certainly was an odd sight to see, thought Hermione.

"Malfoy?" she whispered quietly, her voice shaking from her disbelief.

Harry helped Malfoy stand from his place by the fire, the blond wincing only slightly as he casually walked toward her. Hermione wielded her wand almost impulsively and couldn't stop her expression of bewilderment as Harry stepped between her and Malfoy, as though protecting the other boy.

"Malfoy's hurt... He needs help. Please?" he pleaded with her.

"What's he doing here, Harry?" she questioned softly, lowering her wand and stepping forward, her curiosity just barely surpassing her caution. Harry stepped back, allowing her full view of the blond boy that she hadn't seen in almost two weeks. It was in the way that Draco unconsciously leaned closer to Harry as Hermione approached that she realized how utterly different Malfoy was behaving. Instead of his usual and characteristic spite and arrogance, he was displaying an almost nervous vigilance—a wariness that could be tempered only by the fear that seemed to fill his slate eyes.

She was curious to test this odd change as she continued to step forward, noticing as Draco leaned further and further away from her, finally settling with his back pressed against Harry's torso. His gray eyes were frantic by the time she finally stopped, his hand reaching back to unconsciously grasp at the side of Harry's abdomen.

"Don't touch him, 'Mione," Harry warned, and although his tone was casual, there was an edge of underlying protectiveness coating his words. "I can't really go into detail on it, but... Just don't touch, alright?"

She nodded absently as though not really comprehending Harry's words as she continued to reach forward, curious to see what the results would be. She was so perplexed by the drastic personality change in the boy who used to be her nemesis, and not only that, but the distinct difference in the way that Harry regarded the other boy, as well. It was oddly disconcerting to see the two behaving so... comfortably with one another.

Draco's eyes looked utterly terrified as Hermione's hand slowly inched closer, but the contact was intercepted as Harry stood possessively in front of Malfoy once again. "I said don't touch him, Hermione," he growled softly, and Hermione was pulled back to reality.

"Right. Sorry," she said, looking sheepish. She straightened up and faced the two of them with a more composed expression, a sad smile settling across her expression. "So what's wrong?"

"Have you ever heard of the _Incendium _curse, Granger?" Malfoy spoke in a strained voice, his hand gripping at Harry's shoulder.

"I've read about it before. If I remember correctly..." she paused for a moment, thinking. "It was mentioned in History of Magic earlier this year. It was used in initiation rituals hundreds of years ago to test a wizards strength and pain tolerance, right? And later as a punishment in Azkaban?"

"Well, have you ever learn about the after-effects?" Draco questioned. "Just... don't touch me. Harry's the only one who's tried, and..." Malfoy paused for a moment, his gaze sparking with something unidentifiable, perhaps... fear? "And honestly, I'm bloody terrified to see how it will react to different people."

"Well, what happens?" Hermione questioned softly, trying desperately not to openly gape at the blond who was practically radiating an almost palpable wariness.

"It hurts..." And the whisper was so muted—so incongruously small—that Hermione could help but frown. Draco's anxiety was suffused with every word he spoke, his entire body retracting and trying to put further distance between Hermione and himself. She couldn't help but notice the way Draco gripped at Harry's arm, seeking _him _out. "It's like it has desensitized a bit to Harry, but if..." he paused, shaking his head as a scowl settled across his features. "If I'm caught off guard... It's still fucking excruciating."

Hermione's brows furrowed in utter fascination; she had never heard of a curse with lingering after-effects such as the ones he was describing. Suddenly, she narrowed her eyes suspiciously, watching Draco carefully. "How do I know you're not just making all of this up, Malfoy?"

"He's not," Harry whispered, looking sheepish. "It's not without incident that the curse's reaction has lessened to my contact..." It was in that Harry directed his attention to the ground—his features somber and almost a little regretful—that she understood the implication of his words.

"Oh... Right then." She composed herself quickly, thinking for a moment before responding once again. "Well, I can do some research to find counter-spell, but—"

"Oh, no, that's not what we needed your help with," Harry started, attention peaking as he faced her with a desperate expression. "Although that would be great if you could. But, uh..." Harry paused once again, turning around to face Malfoy. He stepped aside so that Hermione had a good view before slowly lifting Malfoy's shirt just slightly, revealing the wounds and burns that littered his back and torso.

She gasped quietly at the sight before her, the open wounds and third-degree burns that had obviously been neglected for a period of time. She could see the swelling around the edges of most of the injuries, the flushed skin that trembled slightly with chills, and immediately understood the urgency of the entire situation. Now that she had opened her eyes and actually acknowledged it, Hermione was willing to admit that Draco was not in good shape at all—the wounds and lacerations were obviously infected, attempting to heal over gruesome burns, and he was sick on top of all of that, probably a bacterial infection coursing throughout his body as a result of the neglected sores. "Oh, Draco..." she whispered, overcome by concern for the one person she never could stand being around in the past.

"It doesn't go any higher, does it? Should we remove your shirt first?" Harry mumbled to Malfoy, clutching the hem of the latter's dark jumper.

Malfoy's eyes widened, his jaw clenching as he shook his head. "No, no... This is good."

Hermione quickly pulled out her wand, once again, and Harry stepped back, allowing better access to Draco's bruised and beaten skin. She cast a few quick diagnostic spells, her expression morphing into one of recognition as she continued to see the formidable results. It was with little relief that she found the source of all of his problems—the stunted healing process, the overall infection and illness.

She finished the spells and watched as Draco's magical aura—now highlighted by the spells—pulsated an inflamed crimson. She turned to Harry, addressing him with the matters and knowing he would be the more rational of the two. "He's septic," she said quietly. "His entire bloodstream is flowing with bacteria as a result of the neglected wounds."

Harry frowned softly. "What's that mean?"

"Well, I can fix it with a spell that basically cleanses the entire body of bacteria and reduces inflammation... It's like a broad-spectrum spell, kind of like the Muggle antibiotics, only more effective..." she smiled, pausing for a moment. "But it's a continuous spell... I'll have to return to cast it at least once a day, and even still... Sepsis is a very dangerous condition, Harry. Muggles who are septic are often quarantined to eliminate further risk of exposure and infection... That shouldn't necessarily be a problem, considering the spell removes that risk, but... he needs to be watched."

"I'm not fucking crippled," Draco growled, eyes narrowing into a dark scowl.

Hermione's head whipped around to face Draco with an equally fierce glare. "No... but you are _septic._ Stop whining," she finished as she lifted her wand once again, performing the broad-spectrum spell.

Hermione tried to ignore the way that Harry stepped closer to Malfoy, leaning down to inspect the wounds once again. She noticed the way his hand lifted to gently caress the bruised and beaten flesh of the other boy's torso and abdomen. Her friend seemed so protective and careful regarding Malfoy, the way he would frown slightly as his fingertips lingered over an especially large and dark bruise. It was in the way that Malfoy continued to lean into Harry's warm touch, a soft sigh escaping him as he buried his hand into the disheveled brunette hair. It was all so very domestic and Hermione could tell that their relationship had changed drastically in the short amount of time that they had spent together.

The two people who could never stand to be around each other—fought, bickered, argued, and teased to the point of physical confrontations—now standing before her and behaving in a way that could only be described as intimate. The careful affection that they both seemed to display, the way that Harry was so gentle and tender, the way that Draco openly accepted his concern, smiling down at him with an unfamiliar glint in his eyes. It was almost mind-boggling how such a radical change could have occurred in such a short period of time—it certainly was very surreal.

It was unlike anything Hermione had ever seen before, and she found the sight oddly welcoming.

She finished the healing spell and lowered her wand, smiling as Harry stopped his gentle ministrations. He looked up at her sheepishly as though being caught doing something he shouldn't have. "It should only take a week or so for the infection to completely clear from his system. I do want you to watch over him though, Harry, to make sure it doesn't worsen."

He nodded, eyes downcast and expression docile before his gaze jumped up to meet hers. "Is there anything you can do about the..." he whispered, trailing off as he gestured at Draco's still mutilated torso.

"Of course," she said with a smile of encouragement. She was proud to see her friend making amends with Malfoy, and although the blond still seemed to be rather intolerable in many ways, she could see that something had changed within him. He was a lot more tamed and subdued now, his temper easily managed with a warm glace from Harry or a gentle touch. And instead of insolence and egotism, he now seemed to carry a fearful uncertainty, a foreign emotion that dimmed in close proximity to Harry.

And as she finished the spells to heal Draco's cuts and burns, Hermione realized that Harry cared a great deal for Malfoy—emotions that were so odd and sudden given the subject, but so deeply bound and interwoven that they were unmistakable in her best friend's actions and expression.

And she was almost certain that Malfoy... Well, it seemed as though Draco cared just as much for Harry as Harry did for him.

* * *

After Hermione had finished the healing charms, Draco had returned to his previously sought out position by the fire. His expression once again fell into a bemused scowl, his lips drawn in consternation and his eyes reflecting the fire burning in the hearth. Harry watched him for a moment, appraising the other boy and noticed that way Draco seemed to favor his left arm. It was peculiar in the way the blond would flinch slightly, embracing his forearm for several moments before gradually relaxing once again.

Harry could feel the unmistakable concern building up in the center of his chest, emotions so overwhelming that he seemed inexplicably drawn toward the other boy. Surely, Draco would have told him if his arms had been covered with inflicted wounds and burns, as well, right?

"Harry, can I speak to you for a moment?" Hermione whispered quietly by the door, interrupting Harry's thoughts.

His gaze lingered on the blond for a moment longer, scrutinizing his tense demeanor—always so attentive and well-guarded that it seemed as though the secrets he harbored were expansive and unending. Harry's lips shaped into a soft frown, his green eyes trying desperately to penetrate the sheath that Draco seemed to hide behind; he wanted to reach out to Draco, break through his unyielding barriers, access the very core behind all of this stress, and unveil the secrets that the blond was so adamantly keeping.

Harry finally sighed before turning his attention to Hermione, her expression concealed with an uneasy concern. "Yeah, 'Mione?"

Hermione reached forward to pull Harry closer, her hand tightening on his bicep with taut muscles. "You know what you're doing, right?" she whispered, her eyes shifting to Draco for a moment. "Surely you've considered how dangerous this could be?"

The atmosphere shifted suddenly, the air thickening and becoming suffocating under the mild implication that Hermione had presented. "What? You think he's lying to me?" Harry was aware how harsh his words sounded, the tone of his voice accusatory and almost defensive as his eyes darkened.

Hermione looked affronted. "Of course not! You've not been paying attention to what everyone's been on about, have you?" she paused, closing her eyes as though to relax. "Everyone in the school is looking for him, Harry... _Everyone. _Professor McGonagall has even contacted the _Ministry _to inform them of his continued absence... And everyone believes that he's gone dark..." When Hermione opened her eyes again, they were suffused with emotion, such a divine empathy that it was almost tangible in the air between them. "It's dangerous for _him._"

It felt as though Harry's blood had been replaced by liquid nitrogen, trailing through his veins and arteries and freezing every cell in his body. It was a precarious situation Draco was in, trapped within the realms of a single room, unable to escape from the sheer fear and lack of trust, coupled admirably with the fact that everyone was so eager to condemn him without further question.

"He should go to Dumbledore." Hermione stated adamantly. "He should have gone to Dumbledore immediately, and you should have made sure of it."

"He won't go, Hermione... I don't know why. He's not telling me anything. Not yet."

"Well, have you considered a solution?" Hermione questioned with wide eyes. "He can't hide forever."

"I know." Harry's gaze once again cut over to the form that was huddled by the flames, and was filled with affection so abrupt and overwhelming that, for a moment, Harry lost his train of thought. "I know, but... I'm going to keep him safe," he paused, as though struggling for words. "He's not dark... He won't tell me anything, but I know he's not dark." Harry nodded with conviction, his resolve strengthening to find out _exactly_ what happened to the other boy that was so utterly destroyed.

She smiled softly at him, her grip on Harry's arm loosening to something more reassuring. "I know... I just want you to be careful. I want you _both _to be careful," she paused for a moment, her gaze lingering on the blond once again. "I still don't trust him... But you seem to, and that certainly counts for something."

Harry nodded, following her gaze to Malfoy. He had finally relaxed, no longer cradling his arm as he leaned his back against one of the armchairs by the fire. Harry decided he didn't really want to enter the territory their conversation was heading—refusing to acknowledge that, although no one else trusted Draco, maybe _he _did. It was a frightening and unnerving thought; something he didn't want to think about, because how was it possible that Draco has so efficiently crawled beneath his skin in such a small period of time, nestled beneath his ribcage with an emotion that resembled affectionate concern? He cleared his throat, trying to respond past the lump that had formed there, and changed the topic. "So, the cuts and burns then? They're fine now?"

Hermione nodded slowly, still watching Malfoy. "They should be healed by morning, although..." She pulled out her wand a moment later, quickly transfiguring a piece of parchment into a small bottle of what appeared to be a dull beige liquid. "It's a mineral oil... Magically enhanced." She gave the small bottle to Harry, allowing him a moment to scrutinize the unfamiliar substance in the clear container. "It will help reduce the chance of scarring..." she finished with a smile.

Harry returned his attention to her, smiling as he pulled her into a tight hug. "Thanks , Hermione... You'll make a wonderful Mediwitch one day."

Hermione's eyes immediately brightened, appreciating the compliment. "You're not coming with?" she asked as she noticed Harry offering her the Invisibility Cloak.

"Nah," he said, color flaring in his cheeks. "I'm gonna stay in here for a while."

With a final smile and a small nod, he handed her the Invisibility Cloak and watched as she disappeared from sight, the door of the Room of Requirement opening quietly and then closing once again.

* * *

**Author's Note:** I apologize that it's taken a while to get this chapter posted—I've spent a lot of time rereading and editing it, as well as trying to write more chapters. I've really been hoping to stay ahead with this story, to have at least two chapters ready before I post another one, so updates may remain sporadic for a while.

Thanks again to everyone who has been reading and reviewing! I can't tell you how encouraging all of your comments are or even the simple knowledge that people are reading and adding this story to their favorites. I wish I could send all of you cookies and thank you cards with puppies on the front. And once again, if you have any questions or comments, please don't hesitate to ask. The link to my Formspring is on my profile or you can simply send a review or PM, and I will answer as soon as possible.


	5. Chapter 5: Combustibility

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters involved. No copyright infringement intended.

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Harry found himself sitting next to Draco by the fire a moment later, the small bottle clutched in his hands as he faced the blond. It seemed as though Draco wasn't even aware that Harry was sitting next to him, he gaze focused attentively on the flames in front of him and a thoughtful scowl veiling his features. Harry took the moment to watch him yet again, allowing his own thoughts to resurface.

In less than two weeks his entire perception and cognition had flipped one-hundred and eighty degrees. He couldn't fathom how, in such a small period of time, Draco had completely annihilated all of Harry's preconceived thoughts. It was unnerving how the both of them seemed to react to one another now, no longer hostile and intolerant of each others existence, but rather the exact opposite. They both seemed to embrace the abrupt change in their relationship, and instead of acting out of anger and repulsion, they were acting out of a mutual understanding and an underlying concern.

It was in the way that Draco would reach out to him—craving the comfort that he would readily supply—that Harry realized just how irrevocably their entire relationship had shifted. This wasn't something he could ever turn his back on. There was no way that they could possibly go back to how things had been previously, the mutual distaste and antagonism. Harry found himself comforted by the thought, refusing to grasp how fully and completely their relationship had changed, but welcoming it nonetheless.

He didn't want to go back.

He would never want to replace this odd companionship with the old rivalry that had monopolized a good six years of his life. A warmth had been gradually building beneath his ribcage, and although Draco still had the ability to irritate him to his very core, there was always that underlying current of an emotion that felt like the _sun_. And Harry had no idea how to define it or explain it.

He thought of it as a distinctly odd friendship that was kindled from old hatred. That would certainly explain why it was so intense and fervid; why he succumbed to the heat and allowed himself to grow close to Draco in such a short period of time.

He smiled softly, pulling out of reverie as he faced Draco once again. "Malfoy?" he whispered quietly, hoping not to startle the skittish blond but wanting to garner his attention.

Draco's gaze lazily lifted to Harry's, his expression almost placid and calm for the first time since Harry had found him in the corridors. "Mmm?" he mumbled softly.

Harry lifted the little bottle in his hand, showing Draco before explaining. "Hermione said it would help the scarring." He shook the little bottle and watched as the insipid, golden liquid swish back and forth. "I can help, although you'll probably have to take your shirt off so it doesn't get ruined."

Draco's expression immediately contorted into one of panic, his entire demeanor tensing conspicuously. "You're not seriously thinking—" Draco started before trailing off, looking down at his dark jumper that was supplied by the magically furnished wardrobe in the corner. His gaze jumped up to Harry's a moment later, so much dread saturated within his slate gray eyes that it was unmistakable. "No."

Harry found himself perplexed by Malfoy's reaction, the vision of fear easily apparent in his features. He hadn't shown this much uncertainty since his breakdown earlier in the evening. "What's the matter with that?" Harry asked, his eyebrows pulling together in confusion.

Suddenly Draco's expression morphed into one of determined deterrence, his eyes darkening. "I said no, Potter... Just fucking leave it, alright?"

Harry was fueled by the aggravation that lingered within Draco's tone. This was the type of reaction he was familiar with from the blond. _This_ he could handle easily. "Oh, stop being such a melodramatic git and take your shirt off," he said in an uninterested tone.

Draco's eyes narrowed into an even darker glare, wrapping his arms protectively around his torso. "Not likely. You," he growled, pointing at Harry, "leave me the fuck alone, right now."

"And you are ungrateful," Harry returned in a tone similar to Draco's. "Just take your shirt off."

Draco watched him for a moment, his face paling and his scowl faltering under his quiet scrutiny. All traces of self-assurance disappeared from his features once again as he directed his attention to the floor, mumbling quietly.

"What?" Harry asked, once again thrown off by the abrupt change in behavior.

Draco's gaze jumped up once again, emotions swimming in the gray eyes that were easily identifiable: fear, panic, doubt, anger, irritation—and they all exploded in a single moment. Draco jumped up from his position on the floor, facing Harry with his renewed glare that was filled with as much anxiety as resentment. "Fine. You know what? I warned you last night, and now..." he paused, shaking his head as he chuckled humorlessly. "Now you'll know and you will fucking hate me, and that's just brilliant, isn't it?" he continued to growl as his robes fell to the floor. His fingers grasped the hem of his black jumper before pulling it off completely and throwing it to the floor, as well.

Harry stared at him for a moment, surprised by his outburst. He noticed the way Malfoy was breathing rapidly—his fists clenched at his sides and his muscles tense and taut—before the words actually sank in. "What are you bloody talking abo—"

Draco turned his head to face away from Harry, the movement so swift and abrupt that Harry wasn't even aware that he had stopped talking. It took him a moment to realize that Draco had bared his left arm, the milky white flesh marred by a hideous black outline that was unmistakable.

As soon as Harry caught sight of the mark, he felt his entire demeanor slacken under the weight of what just occurred, the information he just gained. He gaped at it for a long moment, feeling so utterly repulsed by the design and everything it stood for, but unable to feel anything but sympathy for the blond because he inexplicably knew that this wasn't voluntary.

Draco's stance buckled, his body sliding to the floor once again with his back resting against the armchair as though he was too exhausted to hold himself up. He closed his eyes, letting his head fall back against the cushion and wincing slightly because his tender wounds were still in the process of healing. "You don't listen, Harry..." he whispered. "First, I told you to leave... And then I told you not to push the subject... But you just had to know, didn't you?" Draco sighed. "Look, do what you have to, alright? There's obviously nothing I can do if you decide to contact the Ministry, and I'm certainly not going to hate you for it," he finished in a tired voice.

Harry was incapable of fully comprehending the words, his own thoughts consuming him as he shifted slightly and crawled toward the blond. Draco seemed oblivious as Harry sat down directly in front of him. Harry studied the mark with a bemused expression, his frown deepening as he imagined how painful the entire process might be. And he thought about everything that had happened in the past week and a half; finding Draco broken and distraught; watching him throughout the entire time and noticing the transparent fear and wariness. Harry thought about the curses that Draco had experienced, two of which he was certain and probably several of which he still didn't know about; he thought about this single mark and how it probably played such a large factor in everything that had happened. And finally, he remembered the way Draco had vehemently disowned his own father—_he deserves to burn in hell_—the panic that had followed which was so stifling that it should have revealed everything to Harry at once, but for some reason did not.

This mark allowed Harry to garner just a bit of information regarding how all of this happened to Draco in the first place, knowing deep-down that none of it—not even the mark—had been carried out with Draco's consent.

He reached forward before halting in midair, certain that Draco was unaware of not only his proximity, but it seemed as though his existence entirely. Draco thought he had left.

So Harry cleared his throat, making his presence known to the other boy before he even considered closing the distance and making the mistake of touching him. The blond's eyes immediately opened, revealing such a rare vulnerability and defeat that he wasn't even trying to hide. His dull gray eyes met intense green ones and the question within them was apparent._  
_

He nodded slowly before letting his head fall once again to the cushion of the arm chair, his eyes closing as Harry reached forward and allowed his fingers to gentle skim across the tarnished flesh. Harry found himself tracing the outline of the despised mark, his thoughts centering on how much he hated Lucius Malfoy, a hatred that could only be rivaled by his feelings toward the Dark Lord himself.

"I'm sorry..." Draco whispered quietly as thought the volume of his voice would help hide the tremble.

"You have nothing to be sorry about," was Harry's soft reply. "But I hate your father."

Harry finally lifted his gaze and noticed that Draco was watching him quietly now, his gaze filled with questions and uncertainty and something that distinctly resembled appreciation. Harry allowed their gazes to stay connected for a moment, hoping that some of his thoughts were being conveyed through his own eyes—_I know you didn't want this. You're so transparent now. How could you think I would contact the Ministry? It's your father's fault. I'm right, aren't I?_

"C'mon," Harry said finally, pulling Draco forward only slightly. "Lay down on your stomach."

And Draco did as he was told, allowing Harry to straddle his waist and pour the cool liquid down his spine. Harry's hands lifted to the other boy's back, massaging the rather transparent substance into the rapidly healing cuts and burns. His gentle ministrations continued long after the mineral oil had been absorbed, trying desperately to dispense the built up tension that was buzzing beneath the other boy's taut muscles.

Harry stood for a moment, looking down at Draco and noticing that his demeanor had relaxed significantly, his expression calm and subdued once again. "Turn over, okay?" he whispered.

Draco once again followed the request and Harry found himself staring down at the other boy, ignoring the fact that Draco could quite easily apply the liquid to his chest himself. He smiled down at the blond before returning to his previous position, straddling his waist, leaning over the expanse of the scarred flesh, and gently massaging the oil into his chest and torso. Harry found himself tracing intricate patterns onto Draco's chest, his gaze catching onto slate gray irises once in a while as he tried to ignore the intimacy of their actions.

After Harry finished massaging the liquid into Draco's skin, he found his hand trailing up the blond's torso once more, settling with his palm pressed against the back of Draco's neck. Charcoal eyes met his and he saw emotions within them that he really didn't care to dissect and evaluate. Harry found himself terrified by what it could mean—what _any _of this could mean. He cared so, _so_ much.

"Draco, what happened?" he asked quietly.

Draco didn't say anything for a long moment, just watched Harry with piercing gray eyes that continued to speak volumes. "You have class in an hour..." he finally acknowledged.

"I'm not going today."

"But—"

"I'm staying, alright? All day," Harry said, his thumb caressing the skin right behind Draco's ear to release the tension that lingered in his neck. Something was, once again, shifting in the atmosphere, a transition between whatever precarious impasse they had been at before into something so much more solid and real. He wanted more than anything to reassure Draco—to show him that he believed him, _trusted _him. And when exactly did _that_ happen, anyways?

It was an undefinable connection and commitment that had suddenly built between the two of them, barriers faltering and crashing to the ground and revealing everything either of them had ever hidden. Harry felt as though he was being consumed by emotion, and rather than feeling as though he was plummeting into a sea such as last time, he felt as though he was voluntarily jumping.

Draco nuzzled into Harry's palm, his eyes clenching shut and a grimace passing through his expression. "This is insane."

"I do trust you, alright? We'll..." Harry paused, swallowing hard against the flood of emotion that was overwhelming him. "We'll help each other... But you have to tell me what happened. You have to trust me."

Draco was still for a moment, before nodding very slightly. "I can't tell you." he started, shaking his head. "But I can..." Draco reached for his wand and then looking up at Harry with a expression of fierce determination. "I'll show you?"

The idea made absolutely no sense to Harry whatsoever, but he nodded regardless. He moved his body so that he was no longer straddling Draco's waist, but rather sitting up and facing him.

"Okay," Draco replied before lifting his want to his own temple and extracting a memory, holding it at the tip of his wand. He pointed his wand towards Harry's own temple, his arm trembling as he muttered a single spell. "_Aperiomens!_"

Suddenly, Harry felt as though he were being dropped into a completely different setting all together, comparable to his minimal experience he had with Dumbledore's pensieve in his fourth year. His vision was filled with unknown images, a location and time he was unaware of, while the memory was so, so clear.

It felt as though he was an outside perspective, looking into this dark room and seeing things as though they were happening right in front of him. His attention focused in on a series of cloaked forms standing in a circle. It was then that Harry noticed Lucius Malfoy standing in the middle, his hand clutching at Draco's upper arm—both of their expressions a mask of cool, casual, stoic distaste.

"It's not too late, Draco." Lucius spoke in a formal voice, the grip on Draco's arm tightening. "Be wise and listen to me when I tell you that this is a formidable mistake you're making. He will show no mercy to those who blatantly disobey him."

Draco's mask slipped for a moment, fear passing through his features before turning his attention to his father. "You brought me here... knowing what he was going to request, knowing that I would refuse," Draco's sneer was lethal, his expression filled with spite and venom. "You know that he's going to _torture _me... And you're not going to do a thing to stop it," his growl was low and dark, filled with so much aversion.

Lucius expression was apathetic as he revealed a small copper coin in his other hand. It appeared to have a design carved into both sides, but Harry couldn't see that far—the detailing was much too vague and the coin was much, much too small. He watched as Lucius placed the small coin in Draco's hand, wrapping his fingers around the dull copper with a pointed glare. "Don't you dare lose this, do you hear me, Draco?" he growled.

"Wouldn't fucking dream of it," Draco replied with a lethal sneer, dropping the coin into his pocket without a moment of hesitation.

Lucius pushed Draco away from him, stepping back until he was part of the circle that faced Draco with what could only be called disgust. "You, son, need to learn a lesson in respect and discipline. Despite your impeccable upbringing, your actions and decisions have been shameful at best. Perhaps this occasion will allow your priorities to align themselves—we'll see," Lucius finished just as the door to the far left opened, revealing a maliciously amused Voldemort.

Without further warning or preamble—his actions the epitome of cavalier—he walked into the inner circle and lifted his wand. A bright blue light shot out and hit Draco in the chest, causing the blond to scream out and his balance to falter as he fell to his knees.

"What's this I hear about an adamant refusal to complete the task I've given you, young Malfoy?" Voldemort's voice filled the surroundings, waiting only a millisecond before speaking again. "_Answer me!_"

Draco's hands lifted to his hair, tugging the blond strands as his entire body shook. "I can't do it... I can't—" he choked out and it was obvious from the tone of his voice that he was suppressing sobs.

Voldemort sneered at the form huddled on the ground, distaste dripping from every word he spoke. "What use are you to me as a follower... if you cannot complete a such simple task?"

Draco's head shot up, tears trailing down the sides of his face as he stared at Voldemort in disbelief and barely repressed revulsion. "What do you mean a _simple _fucking task, you've got to be kidding—"

Voldemort's expression contorted in rage. "Silence!" he paused, walking closer to the boy who appeared to be losing every ounce of fight and stamina that he had within him. "Tsk, tsk... First outright defiance and then verbal disrespect of your superiors? Young Malfoy, have you _no_ sense of self-preservation? I certainly wouldn't expect this behavior from a Slytherin, let alone a Malfoy heir. Shame... _Crucio!_" he growled as he pointed his wand at Draco once again.

Draco collapsed to the floor completely, writhing in pain and withstanding the Cruciatus Curse for several long minutes. When Voldemort finally relinquished the curse, Draco curled into a ball on the floor, trying desperately to restrain the sobs that erupted from the depths of his chest. "I'll do it! I'll... I'll fucking do it, okay? I promise... I'll kill the Headmaster, and I'll... bring Harry Potter to you... Just, please stop... Please just fucking stop," he cried out, his hands clutching at his hair and pulling.

"Oh, I'm terribly afraid that it's much too late for redemption, Draco. Much, much too late. _Adflicto!_" Voldemort hissed, a dark velvet light shooting out from the tip of his wand and striking Draco. "You're weak and you're certainly not loyal to me."

Draco's entire body contorted in agony, his nails scratching at the cement floor as though searching for an outlet—any form of escape to get away from the pain that was being inflicted upon him. He screamed until his voice was hoarse, no sound being produced as a result of the raw strain on his vocal cords.

After many minutes, Voldemort released the curse's wrath and smiled down at the trembling, beaten form.

"Please... Just kill me. I don't... I can't—" Draco's voice was so worn and raspy that is was barely audible, the tips of his fingers bloody from clawing at the concrete flooring.

"Oh, not so soon, young Malfoy! That will come much later, the fun has just begun..."

"No... no, no, no. Please, I'll do anyth—"

Suddenly the vision faded in a mess of black as Harry tried to forcibly remove himself from the memory, random bouts of bright light igniting in the darkness: blue, red, orange, velvet, everything but the familiar green. The screaming followed, tortured and worn and faltering so many times into silent gasps.

Harry pulled away from the visuals and the audios, trying so desperately to erase the images and return to reality. Finally, the vision of black broke away completely allowing Harry to return to the Room of Requirement, see Draco sitting in front of him, staring at the fire—allowing him to hear the calm breathing of the other boy, and not the desperate screaming and pleas for help. Harry was gasping for breath as the visions replayed over and over again in his mind. "What did you fucking do, Draco?" he gasped out, aware of how strained his voice was.

"I showed you," was Draco's solemn reply. "_Aperiomency_. It's a variant of _Legilimency_ that allows you to show specific memories to another person... It works kind of like a pensieve without the actual transfer through a solid medium..." he paused, his eyebrows pulling together in thought, producing an almost contemplative scowl. "I'm honestly sorry you had to see that. But I just couldn't tell you... I couldn't do it."

Harry was momentarily stifled by the emotions coursing through his bloodstream—consuming him, overwhelming him—silence pervading through their surroundings. The visuals kept rewinding in his mind, starting from the beginning, playing again, pausing at certain, more brutal intervals like a horrible movie that he simply couldn't _stop._ He had the distinct impression that it would be virtually impossible to ever forget the desperation that was etched into Draco's usually silken, calm voice—the pleas for salvation.

His mind seemed to be reeling, unable to fathom the sheer intensity of the pain that must have been experienced—to be at a point where you completely give up all hope with a resolute plea for a merciless death. He remembered the bouts of color he'd seen towards the end of the memory, Voldemort's casual tone ringing through his head with spells and curses that he'd never ever heard of. It hadn't even seemed like individual spells at one point, just a continuous incantation that produced several curses in a series.

And finally, he allowed himself to imagine being in the situation himself—being tortured relentlessly while your own father stood by and watched from the side-lines, not even attempting to intervene.

He realized with conviction that Draco Malfoy was deserving of every ounce of his respect.

Harry finally pulled out of his reverie, redirecting his attention to the blond staring into the fire, his features shrouded by a expression of resentment. He studied him for a moment longer as he thought about the last week and a half—Draco's uncharacteristic behavior that so understandable now that Harry knew of the circumstances.

He moved a bit closer to the boy by the fire, reclining against the base of one of the chairs. "C'mere," he whispered quietly, reaching out toward Draco as the blond turned to face him.

And Harry was momentarily quieted by the absolute and pure vulnerability that was visible in the charcoal eyes—an openness and desperation that was virtually radiating off from the other boy's entire form. Draco crawled toward him without a word of protest, lying down on the floor and resting his head in Harry's lap. Harry impulsively lifted his hand to run it through the blond hair, his fingertips buried in the soft tresses.

There was a peculiar ease that lingered within the gesture, as though it was so common and natural for the two of them to be sharing such intimacy. A little over a week had pasted, and both of their previous beliefs and realities had been both destroyed and completely rebuilt. Draco sighed softly, leaning into the feather-light touch.

"You were bleeding," Harry said quietly, remembering the torrent of blood from the memory.

Draco nodded. "It got worse," he mumbled, his eyes clenching shut. "I remember trying to heal my hands after everything had stopped... they were bleeding so much. And I remember trying to _Scourgify _my clothing, too... or someone else, maybe..." Draco's eyes flashed open for a moment, the slate gray clouded with memories he wanted so desperately to forget. "So much blood."

Harry could feel his throat clenching shut as Draco spoke, an ache of empathy building beneath his ribcage. "If you don't mind..." he paused, uncertain. "What else do you remember?"

Draco swallowed hard, closing his eyes once again. "Afterward, you mean?" There was a slight tremble to his voice, an edge of anxiety coiling around each syllable and word. "Well, I woke up in the corridor where you found me with no fucking idea how I even got back to Hogwarts."

It was silent for a moment as Harry thought carefully, staring down at Draco and letting his hand gently sift through the blond hair. He allowed himself to digest everything Draco was telling him, trying desperately to grasp a sense of reality.

"You know, it really messes with your head after awhile," Draco said suddenly, breaking the silence as he opened his eyes and slate gray met warm green. "Makes you grateful for the simplest of things, makes you realize things you would have never noticed even though they were right there in front of your face the entire time..." Another pause, his irises melting into molten silver. "Makes you rethink past aggressions... I thought of you once," Draco's gaze didn't falter, but Harry could feel the other boy's muscles tense up and then immediately slacken once again. "I remember thinking about how much I hated you, how I had learned from my own father to hate you. I remembered all of our juvenile fights and how utterly irrelevant all of it was." Draco shifted suddenly so that he was curled into Harry's side, his head resting on the brunette's chest. "And I also remember the moment when I decided that I didn't want to hate you anymore—that I never really hated you in the first place, because before that moment in time, I'd never really felt true hatred."

Harry was taken aback by the fervency with which Draco spoke, the fire and edge of hostility that was familiar, while simultaneously foreign because, for once, it wasn't directed at _him. _He thought for a moment, before speaking. "He wanted you to bring me to him... That's why he did?" Harry asked tentatively, a contrite frown settling on his features.

Draco's reaction was instantaneous as he jolted back from the embrace, facing Harry with fiery eyes and a dark scowl. "Don't you dare, Potter," he said, his eyes narrowing in petulance. "You know that's bullshit. So don't even try to twist this around and blame yourself when you have done nothing but help me."

Harry scowled as he could feel the heat rising to his face, color pooling up his neck and igniting. "But—"

Draco cut him off as he leaned roughly into his side once again, returning to his previous position with his head resting on Harry's chest. "He also wanted me to kill _Dumbledore_... so, shut up."

Harry sighed softly, and continued running his hand through Draco's hair. "Well..." Harry started, allowing a small smile to settle across his expression. "Stop calling me Potter then, Malfoy." His voice had an amused edge, lightening the atmosphere as he pulled Draco closer. "Git."

"Oh, fuck off," Draco returned with a soft chuckle and a light jab to Harry's side.

* * *

**Author's Note: **A lot has happened in the chapter, revealing quite a bit and, perhaps, causing more questions to arise simultaneously. As always, thank you so much to everyone who has been reading and/or reviewing this story. You guys are simply amazing. :)

I'm utterly curious to see what everyone thought of this chapter. Were you correct in your assumptions regarding what happened with Draco? If not, what were your initial guesses? Was this chapter paced well enough? I would love to hear some thoughts and opinions! :) And once again, if you have any questions, don't hesitate to ask.


	6. Chapter 6: Thermal Energy

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters involved. No copyright infringement intended.

* * *

They were both reclining on the bed and facing the window, a soft stream of moonlight swathing across their features. It had been exactly three weeks since Harry found Draco in the corridor, and the ease that had developed between them had only strengthened and solidified. Harry sighed, his hands clasped behind his head and his elbow brushing slightly against Draco's.

It seemed as though Harry's constant contact and association with the blond had helped further desensitize the _Incedium_ Curse's reaction. It seemed as though the curse's affects were drastically lessening, and whether that was true for _just _Harry or everyone in general, neither were quite sure.

Harry turned his head slightly to face the blond, remembering something that Hermione had mentioned on the first night that she had healed Draco's cuts. "Hermione says there's a bunch of people looking for you."

"That's to be expected," was Draco's casual reply, the corner of his mouth lifting into a small smirk.

"They think you've gone dark." Harry unclasped his hands from behind his head and brought one hand down to Draco's arm, turning it slightly to reveal the tarnished flesh of his left arm. He casually caressed the smooth skin, tracing the outline as he often did. It mollified him for some unfathomable reason, as though he was hoping that he could erase it with his gentle touch or soothe any aches that were the product.

"That, too, is to be expected," Draco replied, his eyebrow lifting as he turned to face Harry.

"How long are you going to hide for?" The fire was burning in the hearth as it often was, an orange flicker of light that was rivaled only by the light that was coming directly from the moon. It seemed as though they had a clear view of the milky white sphere as it rose higher in the sky.

"As long as necessary. There's people on both sides who want to see my blood," Draco stated in a neutral tone.

"That's not true. The Order will help..." Harry had informed him about the basics of the Order, nothing too specific, but enough so that Draco knew of his options. Harry continued his tender ministration, pulling Draco closer and resting the back of his arm across his own abdomen for better access. Draco didn't protest.

"Not likely. I've got the mark," Draco said as he closed his eyes, allowing the soothing sensation to ease the perpetual ache that had developed there. "No one would believe me."

"I believe you." Rapture consumed Harry as he noticed the way that the muscles in Draco's left arm relaxed just a bit—tension being released. "Does it hurt?"

"Yes." Draco's answer was a breathless sigh, his entire body slackening and almost molding into Harry's side.

"I'm sorry, Draco." Without further thought, Harry pulled Draco into a close embrace, creating a shield of warmth and intimacy that was so complete and all-consuming that it seemed as though Harry could actually _feel _Draco's emotions. He sheltered the other boy by pulling the blanket over the both of them, hiding them and protecting what was his.

Draco burrowed further into the embrace, his face buried in the crook of Harry's neck and his arms wrapped around his waist. It seemed as though each night they got closer and closer, and while both of them refused to acknowledge what exactly it could mean, neither of them could ever get _close enough._

* * *

The next day was the final morning that Hermione had to return to complete the broad-spectrum healing spell. She found herself leaving the Gryffindor common room early, walking toward the Room of Requirement and deciding to complete the spell before breakfast.

The entrance formed and she entered quietly, chuckling as she noticed to coat rack that had appeared by the door, providing her with a place to put her scarf.

It was in the moment that she noticed the two forms that were intertwined on the bed, wrapped securely around one another as they slept quietly. Her eyebrow lifted, mild confusion consuming her for a moment before her expression softened. Over the past week, she had witnessed their behavior—their reactions to one another and the abrupt codependency that had developed between the two of them. It was implausible and utterly staggering, but it was almost impossible to question and deny because whatever had formed was so unbelievably secure.

She smiled softly, resigning herself to the obvious direction their relationship was heading. She was open-minded and prided herself in her ability to forgive Malfoy for all of the verbal abuse from their past. After spending several hours with both Harry and Draco over the past week, she knew that the latter had changed—that he had grown, developed a sense of modesty and humility. She supposed that was a very good start and certainly admirable.

With a final, resolute nod, she walked over to the two sleeping forms and smiled down at them, lifting her hand to gently shake them awake. Without realizing her potential error, Hermione's hand settled on Draco's shoulder.

His entire body stiffened in response, every muscle locking up as tremors of pain shot through ever nerve and molecule. No sound was made this time, a lethal silence filling the atmosphere as his expression contorted into a mask of distress—so obvious in the way his eyes clenched shut, his jaw tightening.

Hermione realized her mistake immediately, jumping back and pulling her hand quickly away from Draco's now trembling form. She stood staring for a moment, eyes wide with horror as Draco very slowly sat up, every muscle in his body visibly shaking.

"Oh my God, Draco... I'm so sor—"

"S'not your fault, Granger..." he gasped out. He gritted his teeth, clenching his eyes shut, and it was obvious that he was trying to reign himself in and control his anger. He buried his head in his hands, his movements causing Harry to stir next to him.

Harry noticed quickly that something was terribly wrong, completely disregarding Hermione as he turned to Draco with a deeply concerned expression. His hands grasped the blond's wrists, trying to pull his arms away from his face to see what was wrong. "What happened?" he mumbled, before turning to Hermione and repeating his question.

"I—"

"She touched me..." Draco whimpered quietly, a rather intense shudder passing through his body. "And it hurt... It's not any fucking better, Harry. Why isn't it getting better?" he growled, not caring about the obscurity of his words.

Harry turned to Hermione once again, his expression a mixture of deep anxiety and something that resembled muted anger. There was an edge of protectiveness in Harry's demeanor that was compelling and fierce, an undeniable defense. The question was obvious within his verdant gaze, piercing straight through Hermione and she could feel her own brown eyes widen in response.

Suddenly, Draco uncoiled from his tense posture, scowling at Harry and pushing him slightly. "Don't be a prick, Harry."

Hermione felt a wave of admiration mixed with just an ounce of disbelief consume her. Draco Malfoy, having endured Merlin only knows what, had just defended her. She felt warmed by his consideration—his obvious struggle not to lash out initially and then his remission. It had been proven once again that he had grown past old childhood rivalries, changed his preconceived views of those around him, and lost that over-bearing arrogance. Oh, how Draco had changed and it was an utterly stifling sight to witness.

Harry's expression softened and he returned his attention to Draco. "Was it as bad as the first time I touched you?"

Draco seemed to struggle for a moment, the muscles in his neck flexing from the strain as he shook his head. "It was a bit better." His gaze connected with Hermione's for a moment, absolutely no ridicule or blame was held within the silver irises—just mild resignation. "S'no big deal..."

Harry sighed, running a hand through his hair before turning to face Hermione once again. "Have you found out anymore information on it? A possible reversal spell or something?"

"Well, I've done quite a bit of research. But there have been no documented cases where the after-effects were as severe as this... Could it have been a different curse?" she asked.

Draco flinched at her words. A moment passed in silence, the atmosphere filled with tension that seemed to buzz with the energy of a charged battery. The blond sighed finally, falling back onto the bed and staring up at the ceiling. "Honestly? I wouldn't even know where to begin," he started with a humorless chuckle. "I was tortured. And at one point, I don't even think he was using individual curses, just... a _list _of them." The tone with which he spoke was bitter—the usual fear surprisingly absent and in it's place was an obvious exasperation. "I trust you won't tell anyone about this, Granger?"

Hermione's brown eyes widened with uncertainty, hearing for the first time about what had actually happened to Draco and feeling daunted by the implication. "Of course not," she whispered, addressing his question. "Who did it?"

"Voldemort."

Both Harry and Hermione were visibly surprised by the unflinching, cool, casual tone. For someone who had gone through the extent of his abuse—had been drowned by fear and uncertainty for a little over three weeks—his tone was oddly calm. It was a relief to see that his nerve and potency was rebuilding.

The whirring wind outside filled the silence and Hermione could feel her expression soften into something inexplicably warm. Now, it seemed, she could properly understand Harry's protectiveness over the other boy. It was virtually impossible to ignore the niggling fondness that was readily being engraved into her very bone structure. It had started at the beginning of the week, an ounce of sympathy blossoming into a hesitant acceptance and trust, evolving into a friendship of sorts. It was abrupt and so very surreal, but Hermione had quickly learned that Draco Malfoy was a very likable person when he wanted to be.

"I'm sure we'll figure something out," she said with a sad smile.

He lifted his head and offered her a mild grin before his attention returned to the ceiling.

"You should tell her about..." Harry said suddenly, trailing off as he stared down at Draco. Harry shifted slightly, his hand playing with a loose thread on the hem of Draco's left sleeved.

The blond lifted an eyebrow, but nothing in his expression revealed any information. He seemed to understand what Harry was referring to as he thought for a moment. The wind continued to howl outside and everyone refused to acknowledge the snowflakes that gradually started to fall.

"I don't know..." he mumbled.

Hermione stood quietly for a moment, deciding to begin the healing spell one last time and not wanting to interrupt their discussion. She lifted her wand and casually performed the spell that she had grown so familiar with over the last week and a half. The atmosphere was comfortable and calm now, an ease settling over Hermione as she finished the initial spell and started another to make sure the infection was completely gone from the blond's system. The other two continued to talk quietly, and Hermione tried to respect their privacy by allowing her focus to drift towards her magic rather than their conversation.

Finally, she finished both spells, ensuring that Draco was completely healthy with only light scars left as evidence of his torture. Their conversation concluded as well, Harry facing Hermione with a satisfied smile and Draco with a mildly petulant scowl. Harry stood from the bed and offered his hand to the blond.

"Don't you dare jump to conclusion... Hear me out, alright?" Draco said softly, indignation mingling with an ounce of anxiety.

Without further preamble, he rolled up his left sleeve and revealed the gruesome outline that Hermione had come to associate with meaning _bad _and _danger. _The inkling of distrust that she had initially felt when she had first saw him almost two weeks again returned. She took a step backwards as the wariness returned to her mind, trying to distance herself from the threat that was presented in the form of a despicably clear, black outline. It took immense effort to suppress the urge to immediately grab her wand, remembering Draco's words from only a moment ago. With a weak nod, she lifted her gaze from the mark to meet silver and green eyes both watching her.

"I was forced into it," was all that Draco said, his gaze dropping to his left arm and his expression darkening. "And once that was complete, I was given two tasks," Draco paused, considering, "which are completely irrelevant to this discussion, and I don't want to talk about it. Regardless, I refused and the Dark Lord was not very pleased."

Hermione thought for a moment, catching the sincerity and the obvious hesitance that lingered within Draco's words. The snow that was drifting from the pale, gray sky caught her attention and she allowed her mind to travel over the last week and a half—reconsidering and using this new bit of information she'd gained to calculate. It seemed so utterly improbable that Draco was manipulating them—the obvious depth that had developed between him and Harry was anything but uncertain and Draco's reactions seemed so very _real _to her.

She remembered the way he had reached out to Harry that first time she had tried to touch him, allowed the thought to develop and build. The barely concealed appreciation and something _almost _like affection that was always held within his slate eyes as he regarded Harry. She considered the heated embrace that she had found them in only an hour or so ago—the way that Draco had nuzzled into Harry side, his features relaxed into something that resembled contentment. And she thought of the way that Draco had reacted after she had made the mistake of touching him; the way that he had unconsciously leaned closer to Harry, his expression softening from the pain just an ounce at the contact.

The depth, the certainty, the dependency and craving that was obvious within his every gesture, and the affection—so deeply rooted and intertwined within every gesture and glance. No, she decided, there was absolutely no way that his reactions to Harry could possibly be anything but genuine.

She broke away from her thoughts, and returned her attention to the two pairs of green and gray eyes—_oh, how they contrasted... Utterly beyond imagination. _She knew that her thoughts had little to do with the color of their eyes and more accurately with the semantics of their relationship.

A warm smile broke out across her expression, her eyes sparking with faith and conviction. Without even a word of acknowledgment, she walked towards him, wisely opening her arms and waiting for him to come to her rather than making the same mistake as earlier.

Draco took a moment to look utterly horrified at the prospect of _hugging_. With a sigh of resignation, he walked forward and Hermione enveloped him into a hug, noticing as he tensed slightly at the contact but assuming it was fine when he didn't say anything. After a moment, she felt tentative arms wrap securely around her, returning the hug hesitantly. "I believe you, Draco," she said as she pulled away, her small smile still held in place.

Draco turned away with a grimace, whether as a result of the subject that she was referring to or the hug, she didn't know. With a nod, he stepped back toward Harry, close enough so that they were touching, and Hermione could actually see the moment when Draco's muscles finally relaxed again.

"Did that hurt?" she asked.

"Nothing too unbearable," Draco replied as he stepped even closer to Harry, the back of his hand brushing against the brunette's.

She nodded and turned toward the door, walking to where her scarf was hanging on the coat rack. "Alright, well, I've got to meet Ron for breakfast—no worries, Draco, you know I won't tell—and then I've got Arithmancy. Harry, don't you dare miss a single class today... I cannot believe you've missed _two_ days in the past three weeks!" she chastised. "I'll go to the library after class and continue searching for a solution." Hermione offered them one more smile before she turned to exited the Room.

And just before she left, she noticed as Draco turned and allowed Harry to pull him into a tight embrace. Draco muscles not only relaxed further but he returned the hug almost immediately, his expression softening. Hermione couldn't help but notice the difference from when she had hugged him; with Harry, it held so much more acceptance and intensity—so much warmth and affection.

_It's only a matter of time, _she thought as the door shut behind her.

* * *

It was later in the afternoon that Harry found himself casually walking through the corridors, just exiting his potions class. He had planned on grabbing some lunch with Hermione and Ron before taking some food to Draco and going to the library in search of a book on the after-effects of dark curses.

His attention was so caught up within his own thoughts that he didn't notice the figure that stood waiting for him at the end of the hall. It wasn't until a dark hand grasped his arm and pulled him into a small alcove that he broke away from his thoughts to regard the person in front of him.

Blaise Zabini was staring at him behind a mask of indifference and superiority.

Harry immediately felt his eyebrows pull together in confusion. "Zabini?"

Blaise's hand clutched as Harry's bicep, pulling him closer and watching him with a knowing look in his eyes. "Listen to me, Potter, and listen fucking closely..." he started, tightening his grip to punctuate his point. "I know he's with you... So don't you dare let your guard down or make any mistakes. There are people here that will take _advantage _of that, do you understand me?" Blaise's tone was harsh, but there was an underlying edge of something unknown hidden within the words.

Harry could feel panic shooting throughout his bloodstream and forced a mask of apathy over his features to hide his reaction. He thought for a moment, regarding Blaise with careful eyes to identify _what _exactly his intentions were. There was an glint of emotion within Blaise's brown eyes, something that resembled frantic determination, and Harry could feel his panic rising only slightly.

With a stoic expression, Harry cleared his throat and spoke. "I don't know what you're talking about, Blaise." His voice was strong and assured, not revealing his true emotions and the genuine uncertainty that seemed to be consuming him. Harry lifted an eyebrow and his posture straightened, exuding the confidence that had become his well-built facade.

The vague hints of anxiety in Blaise's expression faded and he dropped his hand from Harry's arm with a small, cryptic smile. "Good..." he said, nodding. "Good."

Without another word, Blaise turned and left the alcove, leaving Harry staring after his retreating form with a building sense of confusion and uncertainty.

* * *

**Author's Note:** I apologize for the delay and the fact that this chapter is a bit shorter than the rest. It was the best place to cut it off considering the length and content of the next scene. I've been a little stuck with this story lately. The writing isn't flowing as easy as I'd like and I'm struggling to get past that, but hopefully with a little encouragement, the pace will start to pick up.

Thank you so much to everyone who has been reading this story. Seeing and knowing that people are enjoying this story is what fuels my ambitions to do well with it. I desperately want to live up to expectations, and I hope that this story doesn't disappoint—that nothing is overly awkward or odd in any regards. So as always, I just want to say how much I appreciate everyone who has been reading, adding this story to their favorites or alerts, or reviewing. It really does help. :)

So did everyone enjoy this chapter? Do you have any idea where this is heading or what are your thoughts? What did you think of Blaise? Was Hermione's reaction realistic enough or far off the mark?


	7. Chapter 7: Chain Reaction

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters involved. No copyright infringement intended.

* * *

Harry returned to the Room of Requirement later that night, still feeling a bit shaken as a result of his encounter with Blaise. The message that he had delivered was so very cryptic, and Harry's thoughts had been consumed by the unending questions that had arisen.

He found Draco leaning against the window for a change, staring out at the mass of snow that was slowly veiling the grounds beneath a sheath of white crystals. Frost and snowflakes covered the window in some areas, creating an opaque illusion that softened the outlines of the outside forest. Harry approached the other boy, his steps alerting Draco to his presence, and once he was close enough he allowed his hand to settle on the blond's shoulder.

Draco leaned into the warm touch, smirking slightly. "Bold, aren't you? Assuming that I knew you were going to touch me?"

"I thought that you said it almost completely stopped reacting to me?" Harry asked, suddenly concerned.

Draco shrugged, chuckling quietly while keeping his attention focused on snow that was falling. "It did stop reacting to you."

"Git."

"Prat."

Harry chuckled softly, realizing that in the small amount of time he had spent with Draco, the tension from his earlier conversation with Zabini had completely vanished. There was a mild twinge of anxiety rebuilding, and Harry decided it was wise to present the situation to Draco. "I saw Zabini in the hall today..." Harry started, hesitantly.

Draco's attention was immediately caught as he turned to face Harry, his expression falling into one of curiosity. "And?"

"He pulled me into a small alcove... Told me not to let my guard down, said that he knew someone was with me," Harry paused for a moment, swallowing the sudden rush of unease. "I think he was talking about you."

Draco quirked his eyebrow but his expression remained calm and casual. With a self-assured smirk, his attention returned to the window to watch the snow fall. "S'not a problem... Although, how Blaise could _possibly _know that I'm with you is bloody beyond me."

"It's not a problem? Draco, you're _hiding _from the entire school, how is that not a problem?" Harry asked with mild exasperation, but the ease that followed Draco's words was immense—surely if Draco was unconcerned, there was no reason to panic.

The chill that was being exuded from the window finally forced Harry to the magically-supplied wardrobe in the corner. He opened the door and searched for a thick jumper as he waited for Draco's reply.

"Blaise isn't a threat... If he knows I'm here and has warned you, it's because he's genuinely trying to make sure you don't fuck up and tell someone," Draco stated with a chuckle. "You expect him to openly trust your ability to _lie _and hide information? Potter, it's a gamble, and quite honestly, I'm surprised that the whole school doesn't know by now," Draco teased softly.

Harry smiled. "I've done a brilliant job so far, haven't I?"

Just as Harry found the dark green jumper that he had been looking for, his eyes caught on a copper coin that was barely reflecting the dull light. He reached down and found himself studying the medium sized coin that he held in his hand. It's dark crimson surface lacked luster, and it was obviously ancient. There was a fiery phoenix carved into the front of the coin, the detailing vague and worn from age, and on the opposite side, there was an equally fiery dragon coiled around in a semi-circle. It seemed so utterly familiar, but he couldn't seem to remember and found himself scrutinizing the piece even more carefully.

Harry emerged from the wardrobe, his eyes still glued to the coin. "What is this? I swear I've seen the bloody thing _somewhere, _I just can't—"

Draco's growl of disgust cut Harry off halfway through his sentence, causing him to look up with a mildly blank expression. "It's the coin Lucius gave to me right before..." Draco trailed off, his scowl darkening as he turned to lie on the bed.

Vague memories from the night that Draco had showed him what happened returned to him—he remembered the way Lucius had vehemently told Draco not to lose the object, remembered Draco putting it in his pocket. Harry was perplexed by the entire situation—such a odd item to offer someone at such a time. "Why?"

"Who knows... Probably some Malfoy heirloom of superiority and all-knowing power," Draco said sarcastically. "I had figured it was some item of persuasion, you know? Reparation for the fact that I was about to be fucking _tortured._ I don't care if that thing is worth ten-_thousand_ Galleons... Doesn't fucking fix things." Draco's tone was fill with spite and disgust, the fear from the first time he had addressed his father now completely absent.

Harry mumbled in response, still studying the offending item as he listened to Draco spout off indignities about his father. He finally placed the small coin in the top drawer of the desk nearby, hoping to keep it in a memorable location should he decide to study it some more at a later date.

Harry's thoughts morphed a moment later as he turned to face Draco lying easily on the bed, his knee bent with his leg dangling off the side. He noticed the ease and relaxation that was evident within Draco's features—a casual contentment that had gradually been replacing all of the fear and anxiety. In the past three weeks, the blond's entire demeanor had settled so drastically, recovering from such brutality and abuse at an almost astounding rate. His breaking point two weeks ago had been a catalyst for the mending process, and as each day pasted, it was visible that Draco's stamina was rapidly returning. His behavior was comparable to a tornado, ripping through a small town with so force—so much potency—that it tore up everything in it's path. And Harry would be lying if he said that he wasn't utterly amazed by the other boy's resilience.

Suddenly, Harry felt overtly self-conscious, knowing that Draco was getting better and wondering if his presence was still as desired as it had been previously. Now that Draco was visibly returning to himself, was it possible that he no longer wanted Harry around? That, perhaps, the depth of their intricate relationship had only been noticed by Harry and, just maybe, he was _expendable_ to Draco? A source of comfort for a shallow period of time and nothing more? The thought left a bitter after-taste in his mouth.

He swallowed hard, noticing that his mouth was dry, and cleared his throat to garner the blond's attention. Draco merely lifted his head and raised an eyebrow.

"You seem to be getting better..." Harry started tentatively, wondering if the tremble—the actual _fear—_in his voice was as obvious to Draco as it was to him. "Do you want me to stop staying?"

Draco stayed still for a moment, and Harry wondered if it was his imagination when he saw the other boy's muscles tense slightly. After a long moment, Draco sat up, his expression as frigid and dense as coarse-textured granite. The charcoal irises were cold and unfeeling, a completely one-hundred and eighty degrees from the warmth and compassion that had resided within them as the weeks had progressed. The tension was suddenly very stifling—smothering—and Harry found himself staring at the ground, unable to handle the piecing hostility that reminded him all the times _before _he'd found Draco in that empty corridor.

If anything, he felt as though his point had been reinforced—to Draco, Harry was disposable. He refused to acknowledge how much that thought actually _stung._

"Do what you want, Potter," Draco growled before lying back down on the bed, turning to face away from Harry.

He stared at Draco's back for a moment, swallowing hard against the onslaught of emotions as he tried to decide on a course of action. What he _wanted_ to do was crawl up next to Draco, wrap his arms around him and pull him into the same tight embrace that he had almost every night for the past two weeks. What he _should_ do was leave; if this meant nothing to Draco—if _he _meant nothing to Draco—surely it wasn't wise to get further emotionally invested, to commit himself to someone who wasn't even remotely interested in returning the sentiment.

Harry scowled and ran a hand through his hair. He had risked _everything _these past three weeks—sneaking out of his dorm late at night, lying to his friends, skipping _two_ classes—and it was fucking _meaningless. _Knowing that Draco somewhat appreciated his company was the only thing that stopped the anger from consuming him completely. _At least the irritating git is somewhat grateful, _Harry thought bitterly.

Finally, he sighed, resigning himself to his unrequited attachment as he crawled into the bed. Their surroundings seemed to be suffused with emotion and Harry, once again, refused to acknowledge the depth and intimacy of the way that he regarded Draco. He wrapped his arms around the blond, pulling him closer until every part of them seemed to be touching, and nuzzled his face into Draco's neck. He inhaled and noticed the distinct and familiar smell of cinnamon and spice that always accompanied the blond.

Abruptly, an emotion so utterly stifling built beneath Harry's ribcage, developing, amplifying, and growing beyond suffocation until it was physically painful.

"This isn't fair, you know." Harry's voice was strained and tense like saran wrap that had been stretched so violently that it was on the verge of busting in half. "You don't even care."

Following his words, Draco turned in the embrace so that he was facing Harry. His expression was visible only by the dull orange light that was being exuded from the fireplace, his features veiled by shadows, but every detail was still so very defined. Bright green eyes searched slate gray irises, and Harry noted that the warmth had returned—the compassion, affection, and something so poignantly tender that Harry suddenly felt the urge to close the distance between them.

"I care," Draco growled, the tone of his voice contrasting so drastically with his soft and gentle expression. "I don't think you understand how much I _actually _care."

The words were barely comprehended as Harry stared down at Draco's lips, emotions swelling within him and making him irrational, impulsive, and so, so desperate for _more_ of all things Draco. He didn't know when all of this had developed, _how_ it had developed—these desires, emotions, so utterly virile that it felt as though they were engulfing him completely—and he just couldn't fucking understand _any of it._

He moved forward just a few inches and, so abruptly, delicious contact was made; Harry's lips just barely brushed against Draco's, applying an ounce of pressure, and pausing to revel in the mere contact. Draco sighed softly against Harry's lips, pressing closer yet and allowing his eyes to close for a moment. It was so deliriously wonderful, not even moving, just the simple contact and Harry could feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat ringing in his ears.

And then Draco pulled away.

His gray eyes were filled with something _almost _like frustration as he pushed Harry away from him, pulling away from the embrace, and Harry could feel the disappointment—the utter sense of _loss—_consume him.

"No, Harry... No _fucking_ way." The annoyance in Draco's gaze had morphed into a heated fury, and Harry felt unbalanced having the emotion directed at him for the first time in so long. "You never think beyond saving someone, do you? That's all that ever matters for you, and once it's over, it's done, and you just don't fucking _realize _that sometimes, _some people _become emotionally invested. This is all it will ever be for you—_fixing _me," Draco spoke the last two words with something almost like disgust—aversion. "But not for me, alright? It fucking means something more for me... _And _I don't need you to 'fix me'. Fuck you and your bloody savior complex."

With that, Draco turned away once again, and Harry was left staring at the back of his tousled blond hair, barely illuminated by the rapidly dimming flames from the hearth. Harry was paralyzed for the moment, the words gradually processing in his mind and leaving him without further thought. His fears and insecurities from earlier had diminished—Draco _cared_, but he thought that _Harry _didn't. Astonishment rapidly turned into exasperation at that other boy's stubbornness.

With a soft smile, Harry lifted himself up on his elbow and moved close to Draco, letting his hand rest on the other boy's shoulder. Draco recoiled from the touch, growling something that sounded almost like _stop._

With a little more force, Harry pushed Draco onto his back, leaning over him and staring down at the pale, gray eyes with warm, affectionate green ones. "Listen to me—" Harry started but paused when Draco looked in the opposite direction with a petulant scowl. "Would you just listen," he enforced. "Stop, alright? You know this has _nothing _to do with me 'fixing you' or _saving _you or whatever the fuck else you said... I care about you, and you know it, so just stop."

Draco growled softly, his scowl darkening. "Then why the fuck did you ask—"

"Merlin, you're such a child," Harry sighed. "I asked if you wanted me to stay because I didn't know where _you_ stood on the subject, and you _probably _knew that too. You just love being difficult, don't you?"

Draco's eyes ignited. "That's _not_ true..."

Harry smiled, resting back and pulling Draco into his arms once again. Draco struggled, fighting against the embrace and trying to propel himself away from Harry.

"Stop that, I can't fucking think when you're—"

"That," Harry said softly, "is the point. I know what you're bloody well thinking about and you need to stop because I'm _not _lying to you."

Draco growled once again but conceded, resigning himself to the embrace and actually allowing himself to wrap his arms around Harry, as well. After several moments, a smile settled across Draco's expression and he buried himself further into the embrace. The transition from rebellion, petulance, and distrust to the familiar ease, acceptance, and fondness was obvious and Harry couldn't help but hum in appreciation.

His dreams were filled with images of gray, defiant eyes and the sweet scent of cinnamon and spice.

* * *

Harry awoke the next morning with a sense of ease and lazy contentment, his alarm blaring and causing his childish companion to growl obscenities before falling back to sleep. The sky outside was veiled once again by clouds and the snow seemed to fall at an alarming rate. With a sigh, Harry crawled out from the warmth of the bed, smiling softly as Draco reached out for him and wishing more than anything that he could skip class just _one more time_.

He thought better of it, knowing that Hermione would cause physical harm if she found out he'd even been considering it.

After getting dressed, he quietly slipped out of the Room and headed toward the Great Hall for breakfast.

There was a level of simplicity to Harry's thoughts as he considered the previous night; he knew that something had yet again shifted within the balance of his and Draco's relationship—more stability, more heat, more intimacy. Harry smiled to himself, realizing how truly effortless it had become; they were so intertwined now, something developing so steadily that Harry didn't really feel it necessary to question the exact semantics. They were both involved and there was nothing complicated about it.

As he walked through the corridors, his sight caught on two figures concealed by a golden tapestry that hung from the ceiling. He noticed Blaise immediately, his eyes narrowed and his features marred by a fierce scowl. It seemed as though he was in a heated argument with Theodore Nott, the latter's expression much more impassive and almost a bit amused.

Harry shook his head and entered the Great Hall, trying to swallow back his unease at seeing Blaise once again. A fierce distrust, he decided, because something about Blaise Zabini just didn't seem quite right to him.

* * *

Walking out of his final class, Harry clutched a silver envelope in his right hand, a single word printed across the front in delicate script: _Confidential._

Harry knew the minute he received the letter that it was from Dumbledore—_who else would possibly use _silver _envelopes?_—and he also knew that it was meant to be opened when he was alone.

With a sigh, he headed toward the Room of Requirement for, hopefully, a moment of peace that would present him with the opportunity to read the letter that he'd been dying to read all afternoon. He entered the Room and offered a mild _hullo_ to Draco who continued to stare at his animated Pac-Man game on a piece parchment.

Harry smiled as he remembered the day that he had grown bored and spelled a piece of parchment into a game of Pac-Man. Draco had immediately been amused, watching the spell-enhanced figure chomping at the little dots and the little ghost-like figures that followed close behind—he had even gone so far as to name one of them Peeves. Harry could still hear Draco's mild voice: _"How is Merlin's name did you do that? And what in the hell is a Pac-Man?" _

He smiled and sat down on the couch to open his letter.

_Harry,_

_As regretful as I am to enforce such menial rules, I'm terribly afraid that the Room of Requirement is not suitable housing for any student, regardless of the circumstances._

_However, there are no such prohibitions against separate residence, should I deem it necessary. As such, the password to Miss Erichtho's portrait on the seventh floor is Pluto. It is with my consent that this shall be Mr. Malfoy's new place of residence._

_As for means of undisclosed transportation and such, I assume that your infamous Invisibility Cloak will do marvelously._

_Finally, in regards to Mr. Malfoy's class schedule—while aware of the circumstances—I ensure that his schooling shall resume once that situation is amended. In the meantime, I do hope that he continues to study diligently._

_I shall assume that this information will be passed on to Draco._

_Cheers,  
Headmaster Dumbledore_

Harry stared in disbelief at the words etched clearly onto the piece of parchment, trying to process the onslaught of information and gather his thoughts. He cleared his throat, stared some more, and tried once again to formulate a solid response. _How does he even _do _that, _thought Harry.

He lifted his head and his gaze fell on Draco resting by the fire, parchment in hand. "Dumbledore knows," Harry finally said.

"Knows what?" Draco mumbled, his attention still on the spelled game of Pac-Man.

"That you've been staying here."

That caught the blond's attention as his head snapped up, his game forgotten and his watched Harry with a dark glare for a moment. "You told him? Harry! You fucking promised," he accused.

"I _didn't_ tell him," Harry defended, his hands going up in a submissive gesture, the right still clutching the letter.

"Brilliant... Just brilliant. What in the hell am I going to do now?" Draco finally stood from his place by the fire, pacing back and forth and causing Harry to dizzily follow his silhouetted form. In his hand, the Pac-Man game was still proceeding, the little figure stuck in the corner as a ghost rapidly approached, and Harry couldn't help but chuckle softly. Draco spun around and finally let the parchment drift from his hand. His features were veiled by a petulant scowl, his eyebrows drawn and his lips set in a tight line. "Oh, this is _so_ not funny. I blame you."

"Merlin, you're dramatic," Harry said with another chuckle. He leaned back in his chair to get comfortable, watching Draco with an expression of amusement because, inexplicably, the blond looked even more frustrated than before. "Let's play a game... You _guess_ what Dumbledore said." Harry laughed once again as the blond grew impossibly more exasperated, his scowl darkening to dangerous levels.

"You're absolutely insufferable, has anyone ever told you that?" the blond growled. "I now have respect for all of your housemates—all of 'em—for putting up with your ass for so long."

"Ron will be pleased to hear." Harry offered the note to Draco, smiling as the blond roughly snatched the piece of parchment out of his hand.

As Draco read the note, Harry found himself walking over to the window once more, stealing a glimpse of the beautiful scenery one last time. The snow continued to fall silently, several inches accumulating on the grounds and covering their surroundings beneath a sheet of lucid white. Harry took a moment to revel in the purity of the entire scene, such a quiet tranquility as the snowflakes fell with ease, and Harry found himself gently touching the glass as though reaching out. There seemed to be a level of simplicity to the sight before him as though being out there would cause every single fear, frustration, insecurity to melt away just like the snowflakes that landed on the glass of the window. A smile settled across his expression as he felt a warm hand rest on his shoulder, Draco's smooth voice following in quick succession. "Do you have any idea where this portrait is? Who is Erichtho?"

An idea struck Harry suddenly as he turned to face his companion, his smile wide and his eyes sparkling with something that resembled anticipation. "Let's go outside."

Gray eyes darkened ever so slightly, and Harry could read Draco's emotions for what they were really worth—longing. Beneath his well-practiced and usually infallible scowl, Harry could see Draco's true desire to be away from the confines of the Room of Requirement. He could only imagine how it would feel to be tied down to one location with such little interaction with the outside world, and his determination strengthened.

"Are you bloody insane?" Draco hissed.

"No," Harry said, his hands grasping Draco's biceps as he smiled even wider. "It's three in the morning, Draco... Do you really think anyone's going to see us?"

"I'm _not _going outside, Harry, do you know how dangerous that is?" Charcoal eyes narrowed and he quickly shrugged out of Harry's grasps, turning and falling face down on the bed. Draco buried his face into a pillow, and Harry couldn't help but smile slightly as he heard a muffled growl.

"We'll take my Invisibility Cloak—we can both fit."

"No."

"And we can even put up some concealment wards." Harry's smile grew even wider, knowing that Draco would eventually relent; he could hear it in the blond's words, the subtle tone of anticipation building by the passing moments. The other boy's eyes were suffused with emotions that ranged from both ends of the spectrum—mild exasperation, bittersweet expectancy, and something that look almost a bit like sadness. Harry was plagued by that last one, something firm settling beneath he ribcage and he decided, with conviction, that there was no way Draco was losing this opportunity.

"_No._"

As though the discussion had already ended, Harry turned toward the magically enchanted wardrobe and searched for two, thick jackets. Smiling slightly, he found the two he was looking for—matching suede blue, down feather jackets. Without further acknowledgment, Harry threw the coat to Draco and started packing up all of the clothes from the wardrobe, an adequately sized suitcase appearing next to him.

Excitement coursed through Harry's veins and arteries, setting his entire body alight with heat as he continued to pack up Draco's belongings. Traveling outside had long been neglected considering that Harry was nearly always with Draco in his spare time; he hadn't had opportunity to actually enjoy the snow, the chill that filled the atmosphere and caused his exhalations to appear as withering smoke. He had nearly forgotten that it was, indeed, winter—his favorite time of the year, because somehow, everything seemed so inexplicably calm in the winter.

He sighed softly, locking the clasp on the suitcase before returning his attention to his companion. Draco stood in the exact same place as he had previously, as though rooted to very ground, his expression a mixture of uncertainty and disbelief as he stared at the jacket that he clutched in his left hand. Suddenly, he lifted his head to face Harry, his eyes wide and saturated with emotion as a crease of tension formed between his eyebrows. "I _can't_." He spoke with a breathy whisper, and it seemed as though Draco was reaching out, reveling in the potential—despite momentary—freedom that was being offered to him.

"Sure you can," Harry stressed adamantly, his gaze sparking as though to punctuate his point.

Draco smiled and Harry was, at once, mollified by the abrupt calm that had replaced the preexisting agitation. His smile was bright and warm and so very gentle, and it seemed to Harry as though a weight had been lifted off from Draco entirely—as though he had been perpetually shrouded by a blanket of something undefinable but tangible nonetheless. The tension in the air deflated immediately, giving the distinct resemblance of a balloon that had just been punctured by a mere needle. Harry decided that he wanted to see Draco smile like that much more often, because somehow, it seemed to light up the entire room.

The rest of their belongings were packed up hastily and two forms disappeared beneath a sheath of shimmering fabric. Hidden from the world and undetected by even the light that was exuded from the torches on the walls, they made their way through the corridors like a phantom in the night.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Alright, so here's chapter seven! Quite a bit happens in this chapter, and the plot thickens just a bit. However, as I said in my previous chapters, the more recent scenes that I've been attempting to write aren't flowing so wonderfully. I want to write each scene accurately, with proper emphasis, and sometimes, it's a bit difficult. So, while I'm _hoping _that the next chapter will be posted soon, I cannot make any promises.

And I would like to say thank you, yet again, to everyone who has been reading and/or reviewing this story. Your encouragement means the world to me, and I cannot tell you how appreciative I am. :)

I'm very curious to see what everyone thinks of this chapter! The scene that quite a few people have been waiting for, and I certainly hope that it lived up to expectations. Any ideas of what you think might happen next? Thoughts and opinions?


	8. Chapter 8: Short Circuited

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Harry Potter nor any of the characters involved. No copyright infringement intended.

* * *

Harry's voice was barely audible as he whispered the concealment charms, allowing his wand to just barely peek out from beneath the Invisibility Cloak. With a final loop and swirl, he released the Cloak from his grasped and allowed it to fall to the snow-covered ground. Harry immediately noticed the way that Draco's entire form tensed for a moment, his grip tightening on Harry's arm and pulling him closer.

"How could you possibly know that it worked?" he whispered quietly as his gaze jumped around their surroundings. Draco's paranoia and seemingly irrational fear was completely justified, and Harry felt a twinge of sympathy surge through his entire body. Knowing what Draco had gone through, the immense destruction that he had face, Harry could certainly understand the reason behind Draco's lack of trust. He could only begin to imagine how utterly terrifying, while simultaneously liberating, it was to finally be leaving the Room of Requirement after all of this time.

"It worked, Draco. We're covered," Harry returned quietly, his voice soft and soothing.

"What if there's a hole in the barrier or if it only works on visual elements and not audio—"

Draco was suddenly cut off as Harry tackled him to the ground, their two forms etched into the snow's surface. An explosion of light ice particles exploded when their bodies made contact with the ground, both of them cushioned by the mass of snow that had gathered over the past few days. Draco's eyes widened in confusion for only a moment, and Harry couldn't help but chuckle as the blond's gaze focused on his own emerald green eyes, glowing with satisfaction. It took barely a second for Draco's features to morph into a scowl, but the warmth in his gaze gave him away—the sheer rapture that was slowly causing his gray irises to spark and kindle. His eyes narrowed dangerously but his lips quirked ever so slightly and a smile overwhelmed his expression. Harry couldn't help but study him for the moment, drinking in the chiseled features and the platinum blond hair that was now fanned out against the stark, white snow.

Harry smiled innocently at the blond beneath him, his left hand inconspicuously grasping a handful of snow. In the next moment, Harry swiftly stuffed the snow into the neck of Draco's jacket and watched as the blond reacted by writhing beneath him. Growling, chuckling, and muttering obscenities, Draco struggled out from Harry's grip and the two found themselves rolling around in the snow, wrestling with each other and trying to gain the upper hand.

After several long minutes, Harry fell back with a contented sigh, Draco falling next to him as they both stared up at the dark clouds in the sky. Snowflakes fell on their faces, melting immediately and cooling the skin that was flushed from exertion.

"I miss this," Draco started, his voice warm and soft despite the implication of his words. "I took too much for granted and I miss this... _ease_."

Harry's breathing was still slightly ragged from their fighting as he turned his head to face Draco, both of their chests rising and falling rapidly. "It's only temporary, really," he sighed softly, trying to sound reassuring. "You won't have to hide forever."

"Yeah, I suppose... at what cost though?" Draco paused. "Something has to give, Harry... And someone has to lose." A deep crevice formed between his eyebrows and even from Harry's viewpoint he could see the frown that had settled across the blond's features. "I don't want to lose you_._"

"Hey," Harry started, lifting up on his elbow so he could see Draco better. The blond's expression was veiled by anger and petulance, but Harry could see the everlasting fear that was hidden oh so well underneath. "That's not going to happen, alright?"

Draco sighed softly and nodded, but his scowl didn't falter in the slightest. Harry noticed the way Draco's muscles didn't loosen, coiled-up and tense as his paled hand clutched at the hem of this jacket. It was obvious that his thoughts had yet to be absolved from the negativity and darkness that had circulated around him for so long, and Harry found himself waiting patiently for the blond to open up. He knew by now that it was inevitable—that Draco's insecurities would release themselves gradually, his barriers would falter, and Harry was confident that he would see what was hidden beneath. After all, Harry was about as patient as Draco was stubborn.

"Does Granger really trust me?" Draco started, his scowled darkening. "Do _you_?"

"Of course," Harry said with a confused glance of his own. "Isn't that obvious by now?"

"Well, may I ask why, exactly?" Draco's gaze connected with Harry's and he raised an eyebrow, impervious to the concern that was rapidly making itself present on Harry's features. "It's not like I've given you any reason to trust me in the past. I wasn't exactly the most amiable to either of you. Why _should _you trust me?"

Harry sat up, sitting cross-legged in the snow and staring down at Draco with an odd expression. "That doesn't matter, not now... Stop trying to condemn yourself for what happened in the past—"

"I'm _not_ trying to condemn myself," Draco ground out, sitting up and facing Harry as well. "It's the truth, and I'm _curious. _Why would two people, who I've been nothing but bitter and harsh to for the past six years, be even _remotely _interested in helping and trusting me?" With that, Draco scoped up a handful of snow and threw it at Harry, pouting as he did so. "I don't _always _have an ulterior motive."

Harry chuckled, lifting his arms and shielding himself from the snowball. The ice particles exploded as they hit Harry's arm, and he quickly brushed the lingering snow off from his suede jacket. "First of all, if I thought you had ulterior motives, wouldn't that suggest that I don'ttrust you? That seems counter-productive. I just don't want you pouting and complaining about the past," Harry paused, taking the moment to scoop up an handful of snow himself. "And second... as you said before... our past fights? It all seems rather juvenile now, doesn't it? There are more important things to worry about." And as he shaped the snowball, gently packing it tightly so it would stay solid, he looked up from beneath his eyelashes and smiled deceitfully at Draco. Harry reveled in the way that the blond's eyes narrowed in an unspoken challenge, an edge of amusement making itself apparent as the corner of his lip twisted into a smirk. "Plus, you're rather pleasant when you're not being a prat."

The snowball that Harry had been making flew through the air before Draco had time to react, and the cold snow hit him straight in the face. The soft ice crystals melted on Draco's warm skin, his gray eyes clenched shut and a scowl already forming on his features. And suddenly, Harry was laughing hysterically, rolling around on the ground and completely indifferent to the snow that was soaking through his clothes. Draco used the sleeve of his jacket to wipe away the cool water and he glared at Harry as darkly as he could manage. "You," he growled, scooping up another handful of snow, "are _so _fucking dead."

And it's possible that, had it not been for the concealment wards that had been artfully placed, several students could have witnessed the sight of two boys tackling each other in the snow. Heard the sounds of sweet, unadorned laughter finally releasing itself after being repressed for so long by either fear or concern. They might have been able to differentiate the two forms, the contrasting appearance of light and dark. And just maybe, they would have seen the two finally coming together, wrapping each other in a warm embrace and closing all distance between their two bodies.

Perhaps.

Had it not been for the concealment wards, of course.

* * *

"You're a prick, you know that? That snowball to the face fucking stung_._"

"Your picture should be in the dictionary under the term _dramatic._"

"What in the hell is a dictionary?" Draco clutched onto Harry's arm a little tighter as they weaved through the corridors in search of Miss Erichtho's portrait. The sun was just starting to rise and a few of the students were already up and heading toward the Great Hall. Despite the fact that Draco knew they were virtually invisible to those around them, he could feel a tremor of unease trail up his spine.

They turned down a dark corridor that was, for the most part, empty and secluded from the other paths. It appeared to be a dead-end, but there was a single portrait on the far right, two torches hanging on either sides and lighting the small corridor easily. They approached the painting and noticed the young woman with long black hair with a snake draped over her shoulders. She was leaning casually against a boulder and in the background there seemed to be a mass of flames.

Draco and Harry shared a glances for a moment before dropping the Invisibility Cloak and revealing themselves to the painting that they suspected as Erichtho. She gave them an indifferent glance.

"Er... Pluto?" Harry mumbled quietly, unsure of whether or not this was the correct location.

"Very well then," she returned with a soft sigh and the portrait opened.

They entered the room slowly and closed the portrait before taking in their surroundings. Harry noticed a door on the far left that, upon further inspection, he noted was a fully furnished washroom. The bedroom had a large king-sized bed, a single couch that stood facing a small fireplace, and a desk. It was rather small and dim, but everything about this new room just screamed warmth, ease, and comfort.

Harry looked around the room, taking in the new surroundings and stopping at the single window that allowed viewing of the lake and Forbidden Forest. "You want me stay, right? The Gryffindor Tower is just down the hall..." he questioned hesitantly.

Draco scowled at him from where he was inspecting the dark blue blanket on the bed. "Don't you fucking start with this again," he said. "You remember how it ended last time?"

Harry smiled suggestively. "I do remember how it _ended_, and as I recall, the ending was quite pleasant."

Draco snorted softly and jumped on the bed, laying back and staring up at the ceiling. His expression was calm and subdued, and Harry immediately felt a wave of affection and protectiveness overcome him. It was so obvious that Draco was beginning to completely lose that strain of what had happened to him, relaxing more easily and dropping some of his guards. Harry was amazed by the strength the blond must possess in order to endure what he had—torture, mistrust, abandonment—and be able to cope with it so well after only three weeks. He knew that Draco would have a much harder time trusting those around him as a result of what happened, plagued by memories of the forsaking of his father. It was an understandable wariness that Harry could, personally, empathize with. He knew what it felt like to be neglected and abandoned, treated badly by those he viewed as his guardians.

He supposed that be may even be able to empathize with the torture aspect on a small level, remembering his forth year and how it had felt to endure the Cruciatus Curse. It may not have been as intense as it was for Draco, but it was still something that tarnished his conscious mind with fear. He swallowed hard and shook his head, trying to erase the memories. "I'll take that as a _yes_, you want me to stay."

Humming softly, Draco buried his face into the nearest pillow and Harry could see the smile that had settled over his features. With a small chuckle, Harry turned toward the two small suitcases that held both of their belongings from the Room of Requirement. He searched for the few books that he had retrieved from the library early yesterday evening and inspected the covers once again. _Magick Moste Evile _and_ Affects of the Dark Arts._

Harry casually walked over to the bed and climbed on next to Draco, using his wand to light the fire and opening _Affect of the Dark Arts. _He supposed that Hermione already had a copy of this book, and decided that it would be prevalent to start at the back and work his way forward. He assumed that she had started at the beginning and would have told them if she had found something by now.

Just as Harry started reading about the documented cases of a spell called the _Capium Curse_, Draco's head snapped up and his gray eyes met emerald."Where'd my Pac-Man game go?"

Harry chuckled softly. "Who knew the infamous Draco Malfoy, cynic of all Muggle devices, would actually come to love Pac-Man." He shook his head and turned the page. "I think it's packed in my school books..."

Draco flipped over so he was staring at the ceiling once again. "What else am I suppose to do when you're in class? It's bloody boring."

"Good to know you think so highly of my company."

Silver eyes sparked with amusement, and Harry immediately noticed the way Draco's gaze kindled with emotion, a smile forming on his lips. "That's a lie... You're my last resort." The blond spoke with a tone of distaste, but the edge of appreciation and his warm smile revealed the sincerity of his thoughts.

Draco crawled a little closer to Harry, burying his face in the brunette's side and chuckling softly. Instinctively, Harry's hand lifted to Draco's hair, his fingers running through the soft locks that were still a little damp from being outside. The other boy leaned into the contact, nuzzling against Harry's palm with a contented sigh. "You're affectionate," he replied mildly, still reading the book that he held in his other hand.

"'Mm tired..." Draco mumbled as an excuse. "What other things can you charm pieces of parchment to do?"

"Well," Harry thought for a moment, distracted by his literature, before he actually processed Draco's question. "I think Hermione said they can be charmed to communicate with... And a few more Muggle games, I suppose."

"Communicate?"

Harry paused for a moment, letting his book rest in his lap as he thought about what Hermione had told him about spelled-parchments. "Well, okay... you can spell a piece of parchment to act as a transit of communication, I think. Like, if you were to write on it, what you wrote would appear on a second charmed piece."

Lifting his head from Harry's side, Draco studied him for a moment. Harry noted the blond's disheveled appearance—his hair sticking out in several different directions and his eyes clouded by exhaustion. Draco's cheeks were still slightly flushed from being outside, and Harry could feel a trill of arousal shoot throughout his body. "So we can talk while you're in class then?"

"I suppose, if you'd like," Harry said with a smile, secretly pleased that Draco craved his companionship. "I'll have Hermione spell two pieces of parchment later."

Mumbling something that sounded like '_good_', Draco buried his face in the side of Harry's abdomen once again. Deciding that it was much too early to be reading and considering the severe lack of sleep he was experiencing, Harry put the book on the end table by the bed.

Harry pulled the thick blanket back and Draco crawled beneath without further questioning. The two of them settled in the same embrace as they had every night, trying so desperately to get a little bit closer. Wrapping his arms around Draco's warm body, Harry rested his forehead against the blond's, studying the charcoal eyes as his mind reverted back to the night before. Emotions coursed through his very bloodstream, flooding his entire body with so much heat, desire, and longing. "You're not going to yell at me if I kiss you again, are you?" Harry asked with a lazy grin.

Draco chuckled softly and shook his head, gradually closing the distance between them. Their lips met so very slowly and delicately, and Harry found himself inhaling the sweet scent of cinnamon. There was a sense of lethargy to their movements, both of them overwhelmed by the exhaustion of being awake for almost twenty four consecutive hours. There seemed to be such a level of intimacy defining their every action and gesture as they both continued to struggle to get closer.

They pulled apart just as slowly, reveling in the comfort and familiarity of having each other so close. Harry sighed as his conscious thought returned to him for only a moment, realizing that he was missing breakfast once again. It was a Saturday, so he had no classes, but he knew what the results of skipping breakfast would be. Since he had taken to staying with Draco every night, he had grown accustomed to the growing suspicion of his dorm mates. It was an inevitable outcome, and almost everyone that he shared a room with assumed that he was sneaking out to meet up with a girl; _oh, how very wrong they are, _he thought with a chuckle.

With a small smile, all conscious thought fled his mind and he fell asleep clutching onto Draco.

* * *

Harry showed up to lunch feeling exhausted and immensely irritated. He was running on approximately four hours of sleep, and the only thing that motivated him to crawl out of his warm bed was knowing the hassle he would get from his fellow Gryffindors. Plus, he was starving, and he assumed that Draco would be equally as hungry once he woke up.

He sat down at the table next to Ron and Hermione, not uttering a single word as he folded his arms and rested his head on top of them.

"You look like hell, mate," Ron said bluntly, which caused Hermione to smack him lightly on the arm.

Harry growled softly and threw a halfhearted glare Ron's way before sitting up and getting some food. "Rough night..." he said impulsively. He flinched when he realized what he said, how it could be perceived, and immediately regretted his decision to even show up for lunch in the first place. He missed his bed and he missed Draco.

"Oh?" Ron ventured. "Are you going to finally tell us where you've been sneaking off to every night?"

"Not a chance in hell."

Ron groaned and Hermione sent Harry a sympathetic look, knowing how utterly frustrating it must feel to be constantly questioned without a single outlet. "C'mon, Harry... You're killin' me here," Ron started. "I'm your best mate, why can't you at least tell me? I won't tell anyone."

"Forget it, Ron."

With a childish frown, Ron stopped pressing Harry for information and returned his attention to his food. Harry sighed, feeling so utterly exhausted that he didn't think he could function for much longer. His eyes shut slowly before he felt a small hand gently grasp his arm. "Is everything alright, Harry?" Hermione's soft and concerned voice spoke. She leaned a little closer to him, so that no one could hear them, and even went as far as to mutter a mild silencing charm. "You look absolutely exhausted."

Harry nod and rested his head on Hermione's shoulder. "I'm fine... Just tired. Long night," Harry mumbled. "And I knew if I didn't come to lunch, I'd have to deal with _them _later." He gestured toward the rest of his housemates with a darkening scowl.

"Oh, Harry... I know that all of their questions must be frustrating, but it's to be expected," she said softly. "There's no way that you would consider telling Ron? I'm sure he would understand and he could—"

"_No_," Harry said adamantly, cutting her off mid-sentence. He lifted his head from her shoulder and inconspicuously put some food into a container that was given to him by the house-elves working in the kitchen.

"You know you can trust Ron," she said with a confused expression.

"Yes, _I _know _I_ can trust Ron," he whispered shortly. "But Draco doesn't. And I would rather not deal with Ron's temper, because you know as well as I do that he's _not _going to be happy."

Hermione sighed, patting Harry on the arm in what he suspected was a comforting gesture. "How is Draco, anyway? Better, hopefully?"

Harry nodded. "We went outside last night... Concealment charms."

Hermione looked concerned for a moment, a fleeting uncertainty visible in her brown eyes. "Are you sure that was a wise thing to do, Harry?"

"It's not fair that he has to stay in one place," he explained with a scowl. "We were careful."

"Well, alright then."

"Yeah... We had to move anyways," Harry started, his hand tilting and playing with his goblet of pumpkin juice. "Dumbledore knows... He sent me a letter that and gave us a location to a more appropriate room." Harry was aware that it was quite a bit of information to take in at one time so he returned his attention to his food for a few moments. He was much too tired to worry about explaining in further depth—all he wanted was to finish eating and return to Draco.

"Y-you moved?" Hermione ventured after a moment, obviously still addled by the abrupt information she had received. "Where? Did he say anything else in the letter?"

"Erichtho's portrait by the Gryffindor Tower," he stopped for a moment, scowling. "Who's Erichtho, anyways? And no... Just that Draco needs to continue studying until a better solution is found."

Hermione straightened her posture, still looking a bit thrown off by the unexpected information. "Of course. I could help if he's interested, you know. We had a lot of classes together... I could duplicate my notes."

He nodded and gave her a warm smile, trying to show that her assistance was not only accepted but appreciated. "And could you maybe charm a couple pieces of parchment for me? For communication?"

"Sure," she said. "Oh, and I had one more thing I wanted to tell you... I've found a few more books in the library earlier that might be useful. I can give you the first volume later, and I'll work on the second volume."

"Great, Hermione," Harry returned as he started packing up his things. Every muscle in his body was aching and protesting, begging him to go back to sleep, and every single action was slow and lethargic. It felt like his mental processing speed was off, and he almost missed the heated glare that he was receiving from none other than Blaise Zabini.

Harry was caught off guard, his eyes widening as they held Blaise's dark and fierce gaze. Brown eyes narrowed before Blaise nodded slightly; the gesture was barely evident and, for a moment, Harry was almost convinced that he had imagined it. Panic surged through his body, but Blaise had already returned his attention to Pansy Parkinson, and Harry was left dumbstruck and lost.

His attention was brought back to Hermione as she gently touched his arm once again, looking concerned.

"What?" he asked.

"I asked why you wanted the spelled parchment," she said softly.

Harry shrugged noncommittally. "He gets bored, I guess."

And with that, Harry stood and left the Great Hall, too rattled to really be bothered by the looks of confusion he received from not only Hermione but the entire Gryffindor table.

* * *

**Author's Note: **I apologize that it has taken me so long to get this chapter posted, and I'm hoping that I will have the next chapter posted much more quickly. I'm still having an difficult time writing the future chapters, and I haven't been able to get too much done; there's a lot that going to be happening within the upcoming chapters, and I want to make sure everything is expressed appropriately.

That being said, I hope that this chapter didn't disappoint. I know that not a lot happened, and the ending was a bit bland, but I definitely don't want to rush this story along. I want it to develop and progress at a steady rate in effort to make it more realistic and believable.

Thank you so, so, so much to everyone who has been waiting patiently for this story to be updated. All of your comments have been so encouraging, and just the simple knowledge that you guys are reading is enough to fuel my ambitions with this story. I hope you enjoyed the chapter! I would love to hear your thoughts and opinions; what did you think? Any more thoughts or suspicions of Blaise or any other character?

**Reviews will receive a sneak peek of chapter nine!**


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